t/ / t^ CO//' X-^£/*' "^ i 



»R 5549 
.T4 fl73 
:opy 1 



PRICE 1^ CE1VT.S. 



DE WITT'S ACTINO- PLAYS, ep 

(Number 8.) 




HENRY DUNBAR; 



Or, A DAUGHTER'S TRIALS. 

A. DRAMA, OT FOUR ACTS. 
By TOM TAYLOE, Esq. 

Author of "Babes in Vie ^Vood," " The Fool'- Revenge," d-c. dc. 

AS PRODUCED AT THE BOXAL OLYMPIC THEATRE, LONDON, 

UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MR. HORACE WIGAN, DEC. 9, 

1865, AND ATWALIiACK's THEATRE, N. Y., DEC. 1867. 



TO WHICH ABE ADDED 



A description of the Costume— Cast of the Characters— Entrances and Exits— 

Kelative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and 

the whole of the Stage Business. 




Jlthj-gork : 
ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER. 

5 y^o. 33 Rose Street. 




r NIAUD'S PERIL, a Drama, in Four Acts. By Watts Phillips, Esq. 
JVOTT I Price Fifteen Cents. 

REJlDY. I NOBODY'S CHILD. A Dramatic Play, in Thre« Acts. By W»tti 
t Phillips, Esq. Price Fifteen Cents. 



V 



v: >^ * ' i 



^CTl^Q ^L^TB 



*^ These Plays will be sent to any address, postage paid, on receipt 
of price, Fifteen Cents each. 

R. [i!. DE WITT, FiJBusHcR, 

No. 33 Rose Street. 



L Caato. rnm»dy. J Arli. By T. W. Bobcrt- 

• oti. U »l«le, 3 tVmalf ni«rmLli-ni. 
). NobtMlr'a Child. Drunmllr I'lay. 1 ArO. 
By W.lla riilllllx, Eaq. IK Mule, 1 Pcmcilc 



■\, H Mair, \ Pe- 



ril* 

5. SfOO.OOO. By II. J. Hv 

niAl.- <'li»i>.'tc'ri<. 
«. DandrllooW ■»od|r<'*- Porrc. 1 Art. By 
T. J W. Hi, 111-. * »UI.-. 1 Pem.lo Ch«racter». 

6. ^Viiilani Trll t ^Vllli ■ VraKvanc*'. 

llurU-alur. 1 All*. Uy H. J. tlyrull. 8 Msir, 

3 Kriii>loCh«rn Irn. 

t. Nix Month* A|ro. Pun-r. 1 Act. By Pellx 
I).>l. 1 .M„lr, 1 Kimitls Cburiirli-ra. 

7. IHuud-i. I'orli. Dmnia. 4 Arta. ByWatla 

IMiUu].. I. M.ilc-, 3 Pi'nialo Clmrnrttm. 
L llpory Ilunhur. Dtani*. 4 Arm. By Tom 

Tuvl.i,. 10 M«l<-, 1 Poliialo riKrmrl-ni. 
%. A i-Varfui 'ErmtcrAj \m tha Mown 

DIaln. A P*i.-|rHl lnl.Tlu>l>'. I Ait. Il.v 

Cllailia Srll.». 4 Mali', 1 Frllialc Chnlnrlrra. 

10. Thr Nnapplnir Turtica t or, MatrllnniiUI 

Ui>i..|il>-ii»tlnK. l)<>l•lM|:tl,^ I Art. Uy Jnliu B. 
Ilurk<l..iii-. I M.^U-. I Pomalc Characlrni. 
n. '\Vaodco<-h'M ■.itilr «an»>. Ciiineily 
Par. .'. 1 Ari>. Bv Juhii Maddlaon MortoD. 

4 Mnl.-. 4 Fitni.! riialai-lrra. 

1^ \ Wldo-kv tlunt. rmiicdy. 3 Art*. (Al- 
tru-.l liiini Ilia own ii.nicily of " Kveiylwily'a 
Pilrii.l."! Ily J. htlrllriic eiiynr. 4 Malr, 4 
Foinalp Cllarartria. 

11. Ita^ Blaa. Konianllr Drama. 4 Acta. 

Pinm till- Piriirli n( Victor Hugo, 13 Male, 
4 P.Miial.- ClLirailtra. 

14. No ThoroUKhfarr. Drama. S Ann ami 

a l-nilKKiir. llyChailra Dirkrna and Wllklu 
I'olMiia. 1.1 Male, S Pcmalo Cliararlcra. 

15, Milk 7 Whitr. Domeatir Diama. 3 Aria. 

By H. 1'. CiaM'ii. 4 Male, 3 Prmalc Charartm. 
It. Dxarer thaa Llfr. Hirlo-cninlr Drama. 3 

Art.. Ily lli-nry J. Byron. C Wale, 1 Pemale 

Cliarartrin. 
IT. Klad to a rault. Tamedy. 3 Acta. By 

Wllllani BrouKli. (, Male, 4 Pemale Ctiarart.ra. 
It. IT I had a Thouaaad a Year. Parrr. 

1 Art. By Jolin MadJIaun Morton. 4 Male, 1 

Prm.leriiai altera. 
If. Ilr-a a Luaatlc. Farre. 1 Art By Felix 

Hal.' ] Mall'. 3 Female Cliarartera. 
tt. Daddx C^ray. .Serli>K'onilr Drama, 1 Acta. 

«y Andrew llalllilay. I Male, 4 Pemale 

Clialartera. 
lU riaj. <!.im«dy. 4 Acta. By T. W, Bobert- 

aou 7 Mala, I Female riiarartera. 
n. David Carrlok. Oimedy. I Acta. By 

T. W. itolMrtaon. a Male, I Female L'harar- 

tera. 
n. Tke- Pritlroat Parllaianat. F.ltraTa- 

(.ui> 1 .( : 11) Maik l.emna. IS Male, 'i4 

P. 111. I. ( li....'lrr. 
f. CabiBaa Mo. »3i ar, Found In a Four 

Wbaelar Fane. I Art. My 1'. J. William.. 

( Male, 1 Female Character*. 



, Tha Drokra-Bearled CInb. Comedietta. 

By J..MIrllni;i:<>)>ie. 4 Male, H Female Char- 

ai lira. 
, Noclrlj. f.iinady. 3 Acta. By T. W, Kob- 

•'I l»>ii. IC Male, 6 Female Cliaraitert. 
, Tlai>.< aod Tide. Drama. 3 Acta and a Pn>- 

loKiie. Il> Henry Ix-alle. 7 Male, S Female 

Cliaiacteia. 
, A Ilapp7 Pair. Comadlitta. 1 Act. By 

M. riuyre .smith. 1 Male, 1 Female Cbarae- 

t.'ra. 
, Turalaic the Tabla<a. Farce. 1 Act. By 

John l-uiili-, ».<<q. r. Male, 1 Pvinale Cbaractei*. 
, The- «ooa« with the Golden Kcc«. 

Pai.i'. 1 All. Ily M.'ii»ia. Mn>lirw and hd- 

ward«. i M«l.'. 3 Pemale Cliarartera. 
. TamlaiC a Tl^er. Pan e. 1 Art. 3 Male 

Cliarartera. 
. The Little Rebel. Farce. 1 Act. By 

J. MhlliiK Coyne. 4 Male, 3 Female Vhan«- 

ti-ra. 
, One too Many for nlm. 

Uy T. J. U'llllaniH. 3 Male, 



By J. Pal- 
7 Male, S 



Blark Nheep. Drama. 3 

iCiare Slni|>i>i.ii and Kilmiind 

Female Cliarartera. 
A Mllrat I'rotector. Farce. 1 Act. By 

T. J. Willlnma. 3 Male, 3 Pcmala Charactora. 
The nlxhtful Heir. Diania. t Acta. By 

l."id I..M1.111 lu Male, 3 Female Charactera. 
Maater Jonra' Ulrthdajr. Farce. 1 Act. 

By J.iliii .^laddiaoli Mertou. 4 Male, 3 F.>mala 

Character.. 
Atchl. Comedietta. 1 Act. By J. Maddlaoa 

Murluri. .1 M^ile, 3 Pemale Character*. 
Bvautirul Koreaer. Fane. t Ae<. By 

Pn.Krl'k IU\. 3 Male, 'J Female Cbaractara. 
Time and the Hoar. Drama. • Acta. 

Ily J. I'alk-rate >rrii| "-on and Pellx t>ale. 7 

Male, 3 Female Cliaia.tera. 
HIaterlr «ler»lce. Comedlrtta. 1 ArU 

B> J. I*. Wooler. 7 Male, 3 Female Cbaractei*. 
'War to the Kaife. Comedy. 1 mcU. By 

lleiii> J ll>roii. :>Male,4 Pemale Cbaractera. 
Our nomeatlc-a. Comedy-Farre. ' 1 Act*. 

Il> Piederick Ha;. ( Male, « Female Ch*r> 

Mlrlam'a Crime. Drama. k Acta. By 

II. T. Ciaven. i Male, 3 r'eniala Chararter*. 
Eaav Shairliaa Farce. 1 Act. By F. C. 

Burnand an. I M..nta(ue Wllllama. » Male, 1 

Female riiararlera. 
Little Aaale-a Ulrtbdajr. Parra. Rf 

W. K. .Sulei -i M.le, 4 Pemale CTiaracleim. 



J< 



HENRY DUNBAR; 



A DAUGIITEPJS TPJALS. 



A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS. 



BOUNDED ON MISS EUADDON'S NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME. 



Bt TOM TAYLOE, Esa., 

AulJiOr of " Babes in Ike n'ood," " The FooVs Revenge," etc 



AS PEODrCED AT TUE KOTAL OLYMPIC TnEATEE, LOXDOX, XJNDEE 
THE MANAGEMENT OF MK. HOKACE WIGAN, DEC. 9, 

1865, AND AT Wallace's theatre, 

NEW YORK, NOV. 2, 18G7. 



TO WHICH IS ADDED 



A DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUME— CAST OF THE CnARACTERS— EN- 
TRANCES AND EXITS— RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PER- 
FORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE 
OF THE STAGS BUSINESS. 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT W. DE WITT, PUBLISHER, 

NO. 33 EOSE STKEET. 



HENRY DUNBAR. 



r.K55^V-^ 



CAHT OF CUARACTEBS. 

Rnyal Olympic TJteatre, 
London, Ue.c. 9, 1867. 

Ilenry Dunbar Mr. H. Neville. 

Clement Austin Mr. H. J. Montague. 

Arthur Lovell Mr. H. G. Clifford. 

Henry Carter, a Detective Mr. R. Soutab. 

The Major, with several aliases 3Ir. G. Vincent. 

Jorrams, Head Waiter at the George. Mr. H. Coopee. 

Hartogg, a Jewel Merchant Mr. H. Rivers. 

Balderby, Junior Partner in the house 

of Dunbar & Balderby :Mr. S. H. Williams. 

Thomas Tibbs, Carter's Mate IMr. Franks. 

Office Messenger Mr. Cowdery. 

Margaret Wentworth Miss Kate Terry. 

Laura Dunbar Miss Ellen Leigh. 

Mary Madden Miss E. Farren. 



Wallack's Theatre, Nev, 

York, Nov. 2, 1867. 
Mr. J. W. Wallack. 
Mr. B. T. Ringgold. 
Mr. C. H. Rockwell. 
Mr. A. W. Young. 
Mr. E. L. Davenport. 
Mr. Geo. Holland. 
Mr. J. C. Williamson. 

Mr. G. Browne. 
Mr. T. Ward. 
Mr. E. Cashin. 
Miss Rose Eytinge. 
Miss Annie Ward. 
Miss Mary Barrett. 



PROPERTIES. 



Parcel, letter, prospectus, card, umbrella, "Times" newspaper, dispatch-box, 
handcuffs, lighted candles, papers, letter and portrait in desk, a diary, tea-table and 
tea things, envelope ^ud letter, sandwich-box (containing diamond paper) with chain 
to fasten round waist, diamonds, account books, bank notes, check-book, old shoe, 
bottles and glasses, brandy, leather belt divided into compartments, little canvas- 
bag, wine, revolver, night-lamps, pens, ink and paper, oil for lamp. 



TIME— THE PRESENT DAY. 



COSTUMES— OF THE PERIOD. 



Stage Direction.— R. means Right of Pt^go, facing the Audience; L. Left; C. 
Centre ; R. C. Right of centre ; L. C. Left of centre. D. F. Door in the Flat, or 
Scene running across the back of the Stage ; C. D. F. Centre Door in the Flat ; R. 
D. F. Right Door in the Flat ; L. D. F. Left Door in the Flat ; R. D. Right Door ; 
L. D. Left Door ; 1 E. First Entrance ; 2 E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper En- 
trance ; 1, 2 or 3 G. First, Second or Third Groove. 



TIME IN REPRESENTATION-THREE HOURS. 

QiFT 

EST. OF J H. CORNING 
JUNE 20. 19-VQ 



HKXUY DUXBAn. 

SCENERY. 

ACT I.— h'cENK 1. Cottage, humble, but prettily furnished. 



Bow Window. 



Door. (G. 1.) 



Door. 




"^ 5lCT I.— Scene 2. Handsome sitting-room— folding doors at the back opening on 
~^. landing. 

) I I I 

Folding Doors. 



r Fireplace. 



Easy Chair.j 



Door. 



ACT II.— Scene 1. Drawing-room luxuriously furnished. 



Door. 



Tripod Tea-table. 



ACT II.~?Ce.\e 2. A\"aiting-room in the Bank. 



HEIfEY DUNBAU. 

ACT II.— Scene 3. The Bank Parlor. "Window with blinds. 

Glass Doors with Curtains. 



I Door. 



Door. 



Door. 



Door. 



ACT III.-SCENE. Picturesque Elizabethan Eoom, tapestry hung or panncllcd. 



I I 



AVindow looking on Autumnal Landscape. 



Door. (E. 3) 



(E. 3) Door. 



r Fireplace. 



Bide Table. 



(E. 1) Door. 



ACT rv'.— Scene 1.— Same as last. 

ACT rv.— Scene 2. Entrance Hall of Woodbine Cottage. 

ACT IV.— Scene 3. Sitting-room. 



Wiikdow. 



Easy Chair.! 



Door. 



[For Synopsis of the Plaij, see iia^es 33, 39 and 40.] 



HEITEY DUE"BAR. 



ACT I. 



SCENE FIRST. — Boom in Margaret Wenttcorth's cottage at Wandsworth, 
humble but prettili/ furnished—bow tctndow C, with muslin curtain, door 
K. and L. {1st grooves)— a loud ring heard as the curtain rises. 

Enter Maky, l. 

Makt Bless my 'art, whoever's that a ringin' at the garden gate, as if 
they'd wrinch the wire out 1 {looking out at wimiow) My, it it ain't a foot- 
man and carriage ! And if there aint that darhn' Miss Laura Dunbar a 
settin' out Oh, if all Miss Margaret's pupils was like her! {shuts gate) 
I don't mind the footman airiu' his calves, but I can't keep her waitin . 

[Exit Mary, l. 

Enter Laura, l., escorted by Mary, carrying a parcel. 

Laura Well Mary, vou never saw me arrive in feiie state-coach be- 
fore, {speaks of) Oh, tell George the carriage can wait. I've brought you 
your aunt Madden's love, Mary. 

Mary. Thank you, miss ; nothing else, miss 1, 

Laura. No, did you expect anything '? . , • o 

Mary. I hoped she might have found me a situation, please miss i 
Laura. Why, you're not going to leave Miss Wentworth 1 ^ 
Mary Oh, please miss, she says she can't aftbrd two, and she's coram 
to a maid of all work. Both me and cook wants to stop if it was at a re- 
duction and no beer ; but cook's to stop 'cos I can't undertake the 

kitchen. -,r , , • ^i- 

Laura. You shall come to me, Mary. Dear nnrsey Madden is getting 
old, and you can take the fag off her hands— dressing me and making 
the' five o'clock tea, and all that. 

Mary. Call tliat fag, mi.ss 1 Fun I call it. Oh, I shall be so happy ! 

Laura. We shall be very good friends, I'm sure— I always get so fond 
of ray maids. - ^ e a ^ 

Mary. Which it's wicy wersa, miss, I'm sure they must get so lond o 

Laura. I'm glad Miss Wentworth is not here— I've a surprise for her, 
a little birth-day i)re^ent, but it's such a secret. I may run up with it 
into her pretty bed-room, mayn't 1 1 I'll be so good and not rummage a 



6 nEXKY DUJN'BAK. 

bit, and if she comes in before I'm down, you may say I'm there, buinot 
a word of this {s/.oivs pared) or I shall be so angry, (/vfws off] r.) 

Mary. Ah, bless lier bright eyes, she's lilie the patent gold reviver 
comin' into a place, she is. Oh, slian't I be happy dressin' her ! {knock, l., 
loo/cs out) Two gents : what do they want, I wonder. [£xit, h. 

Ee-enter iinmediately, l., showing in Carter. 

Carter. So, Miss Wentworth's not at home, eh 1 {sits down, looks sharp- 
ly about him.) 

Mary. Would you leave a message, sir 1 

Carter. Well, I dont know that I can exactly. 

Maky. Which if I might asli, was it lessons, sir 1 

Carter. Well, I don't know but what it might end in lessons. I've 
heard so much of Miss AVentworth's teaching. 

Mary. Ah, that you may well say, which I've heard there ain't any- 
thing better to be had from the Royal. Academy of Harts, not if you was 
to give pounds where Miss Marg'ret she have shillins, bless her 1 

Carter. And a steady, hard-working girl, too, I'm told 1 

Mary. Steady, sir ! Well, if llvin' on short allowance for a sparrer, 
and workin' as regular as the clock, and spendin' next to nothin' on her- 
self, and never havin' a hard word for nobody makes a hangel. Miss 
Mar'gret's one, which I often says " if all has their rights," I says, 
"yours is the 'evins abovf," I says! 

Carter. Well, if Miss Wentworth ain't at home, perhaps her father is 1 

Mary. No, sir, he are not. 

Carter. Ah, sorry for that, I should a' liked to have made his ac- 
quaintance. He's obliged to be away from home a great deal, I sup- 
pose 1 

Mary. Quite off and on, sir ; sometimes he'll be here a month togeth- 
er, then away a week, then at home a day or two, and so on. And Miss 
Margaret is that fond of him 1 

Carter. Poor girl, she must find his being away so much a great an- 
noyance 1 

Mary. She do take on about it, sir ; but, bless you, she's such a pa- 
tient creature. 

Carter. And business is business. I'll be bound he's not much here 
in business liours 1 Oftenest after dark 1 — I daresay. 

Mary. It is mostly latish. 

Carter. He was here last night, you said 1 

Mary. Did I ! well, I must have mentioned it promisc;(s then. Least- 
ways he tvas here, and left early this morning by first train for South- 
ampton, as far as I understood him and Miss Margaret's talk about it at 
breakfast. 

Carter (to himsc'f). Too late ! I was afraid I should. However, the 
Major's at Winchester, and Southampton will be all in my road. There's 
a train in ten minutes. Well, my dear, when Miss Wentworth comes 
in 

Mary. Oh ! here is Miss Margaret ! 

Enter Margaret Wentworth, l. — Carter bows. 

Marg. A stranger ! {looks at him.) 
Mary. A gent as have called about lessons. Miss. 
Marg. Oh I shall be very glad, I'ni sure ; I've rather too many hours 
open just now. 



ACT I. 7 

Carter. Well, 3-ou see my good lady was thinking of having our girl 
put to a good music mistress, but I was to inquire about terms first. 

Maro. {(joiiKj to mco/tel-piccc). Here is one of my prosi)ectuses,. sir. 
(,Mary ffivcs her a letter) A letter in papa's handwriting ! 

Carter (asulc). Poor young thing, poor young thing ! 

Mary. And please miss. Miss Laura's up stair in your room. 

Marg. Miss Dunbar ! I'll come to her. 

Mary. Yes, miss, I'll tell her. {aside) 1 wonder is it an Area-sneaii 1 

[JiXtt, K 

Marg. If you'll excuse me— when you have made up your mind as to 
my terms {ijiv.ikj pro'pectns) you can let me know. 

Carter. Thank you, miss ! it's my good lady you see, she's that par- 
ticular to a shilling or two. {looks at card) I'm sure they seem very mod- 
erate. 

Marg. They enable me to live, sir, and to pay my way, I can't venture 
to aslc more. 

Carter. It's a hard life, miss, for one so j'oung and delicate looking. 

Marg. Oh, I'm stronger than I look, and I've been used to hard work, 
and then independence is very sweet. 

Carter. Yes, but going about giving lessons is rather too indepen- 
dent, I should have thonght, for an unprotected girl like you. 

Marg. Unprotected, sir ! I can dispense with proteciors ; I've been 
used to take my own part. 

Carter. And quite right too, my dear, (she looks annoyed) Excuse me, 
miss, I don't mean it as a liberty, but I've one about your age at home. 
{earncstli/) Heaven bless you, my i)oor child ! Heaven bless you, and 
keep you ! Tiiere s no harm in that. 

Marg. No, sir ; good wishes can never harm us when they're in ear- 
nest, and I feel yours are. 

Carter {gomg). Good morning, {offers hand) No offence, {aside) Now 
for Southampton. I'm glad he ain't here. I shouldn't have had the 
heart to clinch him afore that innocent face o' hers. Hallo ! Masler Car- 
ter, stow tlial, 'twon't do for you to be turning spooney. [Erit, l. 

Marg. Very extraordinary jjerson, to be sure ; but papa's letter ! [tak- 
ing t( Old.) What can be the secret he dared write but not speak 1 Oh, if 
I could but wean him from his dark life and desperate courses — if he 
would but slay here and be always his better self, that others might 
know the good in him as I do. {opens the letter and reads) " My darling— 
(kisses the letter) You know I am bound for Southamiiton, but not my 
errand there. I told you my first crime was Ibrgery {she shudders) com- 
mitted to save a young master whom I loved very dearly. The forgery 
was detected, my master was screened, sent out to India. I was denounc- 
ed, tried, sentenced. He might have stood between me and the law, but 
he refused to speak a word or lift a hand in my behalf. From that day I 
was a bliglited, branded man ; I tried to get back to honest courses, but 
my crime stood between me and them {slie sobs) till I gi-ew what I am, an 
outcast, everyone's hand against me, and my hand against everyone." Oh 
no, father, not ever.yone's ! I pity you. {resumes her reading.) " Iloarn't yes- 
terday that this man is coming back to England. I mean to meet him, 
to see if he will do more now for the man whose ruin lies at his door than 
he would twenty-five yeais ago, and if he won't, to give htm a piece of nig 
mind;" why has he undtylined that 1 "1 dared not tell you tliis last 
night — I knew you would dissuade me." Oh, yes, yes ! " I write you 
his name that you may remember it, not in your prayers, as that of 'the 
author of your falher's ruin m this world and the next. It is Henry 
Dunbar!" Henry Dunbar! Laura's father! There is indeed a gulf 
henceforth between her innocent heart and mme ! I wish I could have 



8 HENEY DirifBAE. 

stayed him from this journey, — my mind misgives me, lest some terrible 
consequence result from this meeting. Who s there 1 

Enter Clement Austin, l. 

Clem. Forgive me for entering unannounced ! Miss Wentworth, you 
looli pale, I'm afraid I havefriglitened you. 

Makg. No, no ! It is nothing ; I have not been very strong of late, and 
a little startles me ; won't you sit down, {they sit.) 

Clem. Oh, Miss Wentworth, if you would but take more care of your- 
self. , , , . 

Maro. No, I can't afford to be fanciful. You and your mother want 
to spoil me. As it is, you and your mother pay me twice my terms for 
your niece's lessons. 

Clkm. Pay you ! as if anything could pay for the privilege 

Marg. {i)itcm(pting). Ah, you mean you steal a lesson, at the same 
time Yes, you are certainly tlie most attentive of uncles. 

Clem. {earnes>tly a^td impatiently). Oh, this persiflage is idle. Miss Went- 
wortli — Margaret ■ 

Marg. Mr. Austin'. 

Clem. Let me call you so : you cannot have misunderstood my feel- 
ings. 

Marg. Yes ! I feel your kind, your compassionate interert in me — 
your's and your mother's. 

Clem. You talk of interest. Miss Wentworth. That may have first in- 
spired tlie wish to serve you. 

Marg. I felt it, I felt it all. 

Clem. But as I came to learn your sweet and self-devoted nature, as I 
sat by your side and marked your gentle grace, and drank tlie music of 
your voice, pity kindled to passion, and interest became love 5 yes, Mar- 
garet, I love you ! {[lifting to her side.) 

Marg. (extricating herself and turning away) No ! no ! 

Clem. With a love as true, as pure, as full of reverent regard as ever 
man felt for woman, I love you, Margaret ! 

]\Iarg. It must not be, Mr. Austin ! There is a impassable barrier be- 
tween me and such feelings. 

Clem. You love another 1 

Marg. No ! 

Clem. Then you vncst love me, Margaret. If not now, in time. A 
love like mine mnst command an answer. 

Marg. Not from me ! 

Clem. Not from you! You, whose tenderness brims over to meet 
every advance from a pupil, a child, a pet bird ! And you cannot love ! 
Margaret I will not believe it ! 

Marg. Mr. Austin you force me to trust you with a secret which has 
been my own misery, night and day, since I learnt it, {loiv and slowly 
and h'df averting herfaee) My father is a dishonored man — an outcast. 
{still lower and more sadly) a criminal ! 

Clem. My poor love ! And he is your father. 

Marg. And yet if you knew all, you would judge him mercifully, I am 
sure you would — I do, my mother did, she died with a prayer that he 
• might be brought to see the error of liis ways, and I prayed with her. 
Till I grew up our life was one of wandering and wretchedness. At 
times my father got employment, but before long the curse followed us : 
a breath, a whisjjer was enough; he never found any one to hold out a 
hand to the outcast and say, "I know j'our past, I will help you to re- 
deem your future." Not one ! not one ! {pa:isc\ Now you know the bar- 



ACT I, g 

nj-^that stands between Margaret Wentvvorth and th« love of an honest 

Clem. Not so, Margaret, Knowincr all this mxr niiti,^,, i 
I know it again I say? Margaret WeuTu^lthrbe n y f Tny w^e'^'"" 

Marg. My generous, my noble Clement! Tes ' I lo^e To r ;..^; h« 
your own, but not yet. I have a work to do : to win bick' my LtT.er to 
the nght way : we will watch over him together, with lovitToSs wi h 
prevaiimg prayers ! Oh, Clement, it will be a grievous "rruSe A ^ 
you strong enough to go through it 1 l,uevous stiuggle. Aie 

Clem. Yes, Margaret, if I may share it with you 

Marg. God bless you, my own Clement (solamdu ) 

Laura {icithout). Margaret ! . ■' 

Marg. Hark ! Laura's voice ! Clement, I must leave you ' (Clement 

uT y^'T^ '" '"'f ■ ^'""^'-'^'^i'^ff) How shaU I meet her, wihniy father's 
wrongs between us 1 ' ■' ^"^'^ei ? 

[Exeunt Clement, l., and Margaret, r.. dosed in by 

,SCENE SECOND— /«/fr;or of a handsome sitting-room at the " Genrne " 
Wmche^er~^old.ng doors at the back opening on lanlg-JoL r S L 
Fire-plaee xoithfire burning, r. Easy chair%. ff—»°<»-', «• ancl l. 

Enter the Major, c, caiUioiisly looking about him, ami humming, to " The light 
of other days," ^ 

The tog3 of other days are faded 
And all their glory fled ! 

I once was the flower, now I'm the seer! i V/>a \To;^« . j 
your luck, disgustingly downrthe^r"ps^.rI"af^rTou!n"t^^^^ yX.'^ 
lage so you tried country air for the benefit of yourheaUh and your on v 
visible resource is now the k'rect cvn.-r) f^c *j. w- , ";" ami jour only 

h,A.brA as 0. Smith'used to^^ra" l^Jt^wJC^J^Sl!'''' ^'''l 
off the load of this wofld-weary flesh. '' ^t^^ P-f^ A P cl't S 
of Ih el; ''X.: ";?f "'' '' T' ''^t'^^y -iof oSsion'inTh 'wa^ 

:i irthes^^p:yi,!Sir,E ft4?,/ts^^^^ 
rresramisi:arrtf"'^v'"\°' r^^'^- ^^^^-sJz::J'^; 

^i^iiesn ana so are the natives, (readspaper.) « •=yy'» 



10 HENKY DUNBAR, 

Bntcr JerrAMS, R., fo lay the cloth, hcgins lis work, at first not seeing the Ma- 
jor hihind the " Times, ' but sccDtg him, pauses. 

Jer. a party ! {pauses mul worhs round so as to f/et a survei/) not much 
of a party, to judge by liis boots ! {iii di-i/ust at the Major's seedmess) Sir ! 
(Major continues to read) Sir ! {same bus ness : very loud) Sir ! 

Major {looking over the jjupe?-). Sir, to yoii ! {resumes his reading.') 

Jkr. Was you aware, sir, tliis were a private room"? 

Major. Well, James 1 {mildly.) 

Jer. Which my name is not James, sir. It is hoccupied by two 
gents. 

JIajor. Pardon me, John, 

Jer. AVliich my name is not John, neither, sir. 

Major. Not John either 1 Is it possible ! 

Jer. Which my name is Jerrams, sir. 

Major. Oh, thank you. Then allow me to remark, Jerrams, that this 
room is occupied, not by two gents, Jerrams, but by one gent, Jerrams, 
that's you, and one gentleman, that's me. {resumes paper.) 

Jer. 'Ang his himpidence ! I tell you, sir, this apartment is took, 
and nobody but the party as belongs to it has any business here, {lays 
cloth.) 

Major. Then what are you laying the cloth for, Jerrams 1 

Jer. What for '? 'Cos ii's my business. 

Major. Yet you say nobody but the party as belongs to the room has 
any business in it. You are not the party as belongs to the room, ergo 
you have no business in it, ergo you had better go. That's a syllogism, 
Jerrams. 

Jer. Sillygism or not, sir, I 'ave to beg you'll walk out o' this. 

Major. Out of this, Jerrams ! Out of what ] 

Jer. Out of this private sitting-room, sir, which its engaged by Mr, 
Henry Dunbar, the great banker that's just come from Indy by this day's 
P. and 0. boat, worth a million o' money, they say, if he's worth a penny, 
and his friend. 

Major {aside). That's Joe ! So, so. He has hooked something like a 
fish — a million pounder ! {to Jerrams) I'm quite aware of the fact, Jer- 
rams. I'm a friend of j\Ir. Dunbar's, once removed, that is, I'm his 
friend's friend ; our friend's friends should be o.ur friends, so I have 
called to make his acquaintance — (Jerrams looks at him curiously) and if 
by that inquiring look you mean to ask me if I'll take anything before 
dinner in the way of a pick-up, Jerrams, you may bring me a pint of 
pale sherry and a biscuit, and put it down to our friend Dunbar. 

Jer. {aside). Well, he is a cool hand ! Pint o' sherry indeed ! 

Major. Dry, Jerrams, mind ; and while you are about it, you may as 
well devil that biscuit. 

Jer, Oh, he's too many for me, by a long chalk ! I"ll send master, 

[Exit Jerrams, r. 

Major {looking about him). Our friend Dunbar's traps, I see, all tip-top, 
(^takes a dispatch box) Braniah lock ! {tries it in his hand) looks like money, 
and feels heavy. Tempting — but honor, major 1 You are mider the roof 
of a friend, and if I know you, you are not the man to violate its sanc- 
tuary. 

Ilnter Jerrams, r. 1 e. 

Jer. I beg your pardon, sir, but was you the major 1 
Major. That is my military rank, Jerrams ; I go by the name among 
my intimates. 



ACT I. 11 

Jer. Then there's one of your intimates in the bar iii(£uiriu' partickler 
after you. 

Majok. Indeed! Did he give a name 1 {uncasUij.) 

Jer Which I think I 'eard master call 'im Carter. 

Major. Harry Carter {aside) i\\e detective! Scotland Yard, by jingo ! 
Did you say I was liere 1 

Jer. Yes, s r. Sliall 1 ask him to walk up "? 

JNIa.tor. Oil, no, I won't ))ut liim to the trouble of coming to me, I'll go 
down to him : tell him so, Jerrams. {looking about the room.) 

Jer. Yes, sir. [ii'ai< Jerrams,' k. 

Major. A back staircase I I'll bolt, {going, l., — Tibbs appears at tlie 
door, L.) 

Tibbs. No, you don't. Major. 

Major. Carter's mate ! (Carter appears at the door, r.) 

Carter. And Carter ! {slips the handcuffs on, as he speaks) How are you, 
Major 1 

Major. Dropped a top of! 'Well, I came down for the races ; but 

I'd no notion of winning a cotiple of darbies, {looking at handcuffs) You 
might have let me get through the week, Harry. Think of my engage- 
ments. 

Carter. You must tell 'em you'd a previous engagement with me 
How are they ? (<« allusion to hand-cuffs) Comfortable 1 

Major. Tightish, {sighs) but, in tliis world, one mustn't be particular. 

Carter {feels them). I thought I'd got your size. 

Major. Oh, they'll do very well. I say, what am I wanted for, Har- 
ry 1 

Carter. That Cheapside job — old Abram's you know. 

Major. What, the jeweller 1 {radiant) My dear fellow, it's a mistake 
That was Scotch Bob and the Yokel. I wa.sn't in it at all. 

Carter {smiling). All the better for you. Of course, you've your alibi 
all sciuare 1 {puts his finger to his nose.) 

jNIajor. I wasn't, Harry, upon my honor ! You know I'm not the maq 
to deceive you. 

Carter. I don't think you are, Major — not if I know it. However, if 
you ain't in it, notliing can come out of it. But I say. Major, I want 
your pal — Wentworth, alias Wilmot, you know ? 

Major {drylg). Oh, do you though 1 

Carter, I thought I was dead on him at Southampton, but he's dou- 
bled on us. If you could give me the office, I'd make it worth your while. 

Major {ivith dignity). Mr. Carter, I thought you had known me better. 
Might I trouble you {to Tibbs) to take out my handkerchief and wipe 
away a tear, {to Carter) Mr. Carter, you have woimded my belief in my 
fellow creatures ! 

Carter. By the waj'. Major, they only allow second class fares. If 
you would prefer first, and like to pay tlie difference. 

Major. Thank j'ou, Harry, I am sensible of the delicate attention. 
MigJit I trouble you {to Tibbs) to pull down my cuffs 1 Now then ! 
{aside) Joe ought to be much obliged to me. 

Carter. I say, though, couldn't we square it about your pal ] 

Major. Henry, don't oblige me to be personal. 

Unter Jerrams, r., excited. 

Jer. Here's Mr. Dunbar. 'Was vou a-going, sir 1 What shall I say to 
your friend 1 

Major. Tell him not to wait dinner for me, Jerrams. 

Carter. Say the Major is going to spend the evening with me. {JEx^ 



12 nENRT nUNBAR. 

euHt Major and CAnTEB., followed hj Tibbs, k — Jerrams, after a rapid ex- 
ecution of the usual waiter^s mumcuvrcs at the table, throws open the c. door — 
two undcr-waiters enter with liejlited candles, bowing very low, and retirDxj, after 
tisheriny in Wextwortu dise/msed as Henky Duneab — he takes oj/-' hs tvraj)- 
per, goes toh s travelling-bag, ijr.) 

Jer. Would you wisli dinner to be served, sir ? You ordered it at 
seven, it's getting ou for l)alf-})ast. 

Dunbar. Tlianii you, I'll wait for my companion. He's only gone as 
far as St. Cross, with a message from me to my old schoolfellow, Strat- 
ton. 

Jeu. Beg pardon, sir, but was it Jlr. Stratton, of the Hollies, sir 1 

Dunbar. Yes. 

Jer. Mr. Stratton has been dead this ten years, sir. 

Dunbar. Dead! dear me! {sighs) and who lives at the Hollies now 1 

Jer. His widder, sir. 

Dunbar. No doubt she's keeping Wiimot for an answer to my note. 
Dead, eh 1 Well, we old Indians must expect that sort of thing. 

Jer. Yes, sir, people will drop olf, sir, as the saying is, sir. Would 
you 'ave up the soup, sir 1 

Dunbar. No, 1 won't sit down till Mr. Wiimot returns. We're to dine 
together, and I've a great deal to talk over with him. 

Jer. Naturally, sir — an old friend, I 'spose, sirl 

Dunbar. Yes, though a humble one. We were boys together, and 
more like friends than m*aster and servant. 

Jer. Servant ! bless me, sir, who'd ha' thought it, sir, to 'ear you and 
him talking so free together this morning ! 

Dunbar. Oh, our old feeling came back directly I found liira on the 
pier ready to receive me. No, I won't sit down without Wiimot. Wheel 
this chair and table near the fire — so ; give me my writing-case — yonder. 
(Jerrams obeys orders) Serve dinner the moment Mr. Wiimot arrives. 
(tries to open his dispcdeh box, but bungles at the key which hangs tvith others at 
his wettch chiin. {exit Jerrams, c.) passes his handover his brow, looks at him- 
self in glass, sighs, but by an eff'ort reyains h'S self-jjossessiofi, (ypens desk, and 
looks at pajjo-s, takes out jyackct endorsed) Now for it ! my daughter's letters 
— her portrait, too. {looks at it, 2)ats it aside) Poor girl — poor girl ! {takes 
out other packets) Letters from my X)artners ! — abstract of bank returns — 
memoranda as to investments, {gets out book) Diary — Ah, that's i>recious. 
{lays it aside) Balderby's last letter, announcing that Sampson Wiimot — 
yes, that's Joseph Wilmot's brother, the old man who had the fit on the 
road — the only man in or about the house who knows my face would be 
at Southampton to receive me. His brother came instead ; a far more 
available man than poor old Sampson ! More letters ! I shall have a 
hard night's work, but I don't care for sleeping in a railway carriage. I 
don't feel much like sleep anywhere. 

Enter Jerrams, c. 

Jfr. If you please, sir, it's getting on for eight, sir, and I beg your 
pardon, sir, but missus is a good deal worrited about the soup, sir. 

Dunbar. Never mind the soup. 

Jer. No, sir, certainly not, sir, but 5-ou see, sir, you being from India, 
sir, and missus so proud of her receipt for Mulligatawny, sir, which she 
had it from a native, I ve understood her, that come over 'ere as a prince, 
sir, but turned out on'y a ship's cook, sir, and run up a 'eavy bill, sir, 
and nothing for it but that receipt, 

Dunbar. Tell her I never take soup. 

Jer. No, sir, in course not, sir — dear me, sir, don't you, sir ! that will 



ACT II. 13 

be a very great disappointment to missus, sir. Wliat wine would )'ou be 
})leased to order, sir ! Here s the wine carte, sir. (yives it) Our i'rencli 
wine's generally approved, and there's a very i)articular forty slierry, sir. 

Dunbar. Cliabhs with the lish, Clos Voiiglot wiih the removes; set it 
near tlie lire for live minutes, and i)Ut some Champagne in iee. 

Je'k. Yes, sir, certainly, sir. 

Du^'BAR {rismg and tvallcing up (did doivn). Reall)', this is rather cool 
treatment of Wilmot's. An hour about a mile walk ! It can't be more 
than a mile % 

Jek. No, sir, I shoidd say not, sir — I beg your i:)ardon, sir, but from 
what to which 1 

DuxBAR. From where I left him, the second field past the cathedral. 

Jer. Not a mile from there to the Hollies, sir. It's just through Hag 
Bottom, sir, that's the wood in the next field, sir. 

Dunbar. I know ; I left him on this side of it. The road's perfectly 
safe, I suppose 1 

Jer. Oh, dear, yes, sir, safe as the bank, sir. That is, to be sure, 
there's the hoppers beginning to be about, and they re a roughish lot, 
you know, sir — Irish, a good many on 'em, and I can't abear Irish. 

Dunbar. Besides, it was broad daylight, {sits) No, I've no doubt 'Wil- 
mot has found snug quarters at the Hollies, and is talking over me and 
my atl'airs with my old schoolfellow s widow. Long as I've known Wil- 
mot, and much as I value him, he's an inveterate gossip! 

Jer. Yes, sir, he did seem a pleasant, cheerful party, sir. {mm-murs 
heard wi hout) Perhaps I'd better go and order the wine, sir, {he goes to 
C. doors, as he opens them, a miir»ii<r is heard.) 

Dunbar. What's that 1 eh"? {in alarm.) 

Jek. a crowd in the 'all, sir. They've got something under a sheet 

Dunbar. Eh 1 

Jer. On a shutter ! {shrinking haeJc.) 

Dunbar {fiercely and loudly). Do you mean to give me my death of cold, 
sir, with that open door ] 

Jek. {staring cfpen-mouthed). They're a lifting the sheet off! Gracious 
me! it's a corpse, sir! They're a bringing it up here ! 

Crowd appear in corridor. 

Dunbar. Here — how dare they — what's this'? {goes np to the Crowd, 
which opens to give him a sight of what they are carrying) Joseph Wilmot ! 
Dead 1 {Tableau and 

END OF act first. 



ACT II. 



SCENE FIRST. — The dravjing room in Mr. Binihars House in Tortlatid Tlace 
luxuriously furnished. Laura Dunisar at a tripod tea-table, r. c, pre- 
sided over by Mary, doors R. L. and c. 

Mary. Please, Miss Laura, you must take something ! 

Laura. How can 1 eat it 1 have no appetite, you stupid girl, and how 
can I have an ajipetite if I'm unhappy 1 

Mary. Unhappy ! You miss ! 

Laura {throivmg herself back on her chair). Oh, if you knew, Mary! 

Mary. Y'ou, that aunt saj's used to be as blithe as a bird, and as merry 
as a cricket, she says. 



14 HENKY DUNBAR. 

Laura. Ah, that was while I was lookhig forward to papa's coming 
back. 

ISIary. Well, miss, anfl now he has come back. 

Lauka. TliaL's il ! He doesn't li)ve me. (Mary makes a sign of dissent) 
Oh, you may .shake your head, Mary, and say stuff and nonsense to your- 
self, but 1 know ! {she sobs and buries her face in her handkerchief.) 

Mary. Now just you take a cup of tea, Miss Laura, and swallow all 
them vapors with it. 

Laura {vehemently). It is true, Mary, too true ! Oh, I could be so 
much to him, and I am nothing. 

Mary. Oli, please, miss, aunt says you mustn't take on as if fathers 
■with banks and businesses had nothing to do but love their daughters. 
She says you must make allowances for India. It's so hot there, people 
comes to value coolness above everything, and ices their hearts like their 
liquors. And then, she says, you must allow for your im's liver. 

Enter Servant, c, announcing. 

Servant. Mr. Lovell ! 
Laura {jumpinmj up). Arthur ! {joyously.') 

Mary. Tliat's the first time you've sounded happy since we came from 
Warwickshire. 

'Enter Arthur Lovell, c. 

Lovell. Ah, Miss Dunbar, {takes her hand warmly.) 

Mary. Please, miss, hadn't I better look out your new bonnet for your 
drive, {aside to Lovell) Don't you be dashed, Mr. Arthur. 

[Exit Mary, l. 

Laura {ivho has been making Lovell a cup of tea). And when did you 
come back from Warwickshire ? and how did you leave all my pets 
at the Abbey — the golden pheasants, and dear old Pluto, and my dar- 
ling Lily '? 

Lovell. All well. Oh, what would I give to see you on Lily again! 

Laura. Oh yes, shan t we have delightful long rides together, this 
year ? 

Lovell (sighs). I'm afraid not. 

Laura {looks inquiringly). . 

Lovell. I'm going away. 

Laura. Going away 1 

Lovell. To India ! 

Laura. Going to India 1 

Lovell. Lord Harristown has offered me an Indian appointment — I 
mean to accept it. 

Laura. I shall feel very lonely when you are gone, (rise^) I shall have 
nobody to care for me much, {crosses to l.) 

Lovell. You will have your father. 

Laura {bursting out). Oh, Arthur, if you only knew — I meant to hide 
it from ycu — from everybody — but I can't, he does not love me. 

Enter Dunbar, r. 

Lovell {vehemently). Not love you ! Oh, who can know you and not 
love you 1 Give me one sweet hope to cheer me in my exile that you 
return my love. 

Laura {gives him her hand). I do love you, Arthur, deeply, trulj'. 



ACT II. . 15 

Hexry Dosbar comes forward, thcij start, and stand confused. 

' Dunbar. Leave us, Laura, for a little, {she looks wistfully at her father 
as if expecting a caress,- but receiving none.') 

Laura (goes into ha- boudoir). Is he angry 1 [Hxif, l. 1 e. 

Dunbar. I guessed rightly then, Mr. Lovell'? 

Lovell. Yes, sir. I love her, as truly ever man loved the woman of 
his choice, Lxt [he pauses.) 

Dunbar. Siie is tlie daughter of a man reputed very rich, and you fear 
her father may disai)prove of your pretensions. Eh ■? " Faint heart 
never won fair lady ! " (Lovell looks surprised) You are young, witii a 
head on your shoulders, fair prospects, everybody's good word ; India 
has taught me to value men for what they are — you have my good will, 
there's my hand on it. (rises.) 

Lovell. Oh sir, you put my dream within my reach ! May I tell her 1 

Dunbar. I see no objection. But mind you treasure her love : it is a 
precious, a holy thing — the pure love of a woman. I, who know so well 
what a daughter's love is, have the best right to say so. 

Lovell. And yet Laura is miserable under the idea that you do not 
love her. If she could have heard you just now ! 

Dunbar. Ifs not every man who can afford to wear his heart on his 
sleeve, like you young Adams and Eves of FooFs Paradise. Yes, you 
can tell her, and the sooner the knot's; tied the better. I shall be glad to 
entrust her to a younger, a better protector. The climate and life here, I 
find, won't do after India. I'm hipped and half hypochondriac already. 

Lovell. You do look worn and anxious. 

Dunbar. All the climate; I shall have to try the continent, I foresee. 
(aside — as if struck by a sudden thought) Ha, yes, the very thing ! (to Lov- 
ell) I must see you married before I go. I dislike lawyer's jargon. I 
shall give Laura a handsome sum, make you a good allowance, and as 
I've an old Indian's love of gewgaws, she shall have the handsomest dia- 
mond necklace ever seen in St. George's. I'll arrange for that myself. 

Lovell. Then, with your leave, sir, after I ve seen Laura I'll drive 
straight to Doctor's Commons. 

Dunbar. Good, and leave this (pencils on a card) for me in Hatton Gar- 
den en route. Its for our biggest diamond-wallah, giving him an appoint- 
ment with me to-day in the city, (aside) The very motive I wanted ! 

[JiXit, R. 

Lovell. Now for my little darling ! I'm the happiest man in Eng- 
land, and Dunbar's a trump, an ace of trumps, the paragon of all possi- 
ble fathers-in-law ! [HxU into Laura's boudoir, l. 1. e, 

£nter Margaret Wentworth, in deep mourning, ushered in by a servant, c. 

Servant. What name, Miss 1 

Marg. Miss Margaret AVentworth ! (gives card) Mr. Dunbar may not 
know the name, say it is Miss Laura's music mistress. (Servant is going, 
R., but hearing bell, l. t e., turns and exits, l.) Yes, he refused to see me at 
'Winchester under my own name of Margaret Wilmot ; slunk away, be- 
hind a false promise, like a coward as he is. At last I shall confront him. 
And now the terrible truth will look out of my eyes, will si)eak through 
my lii)s, till he cowers before me, a self-convicted man ! lie could brave 
the inquest, the purblind jury, the partial and prejudiced magistrates ! 
" What possible motive 1 " motive! Oh, had I been there I could have 
told them the secret of Henry Dunbar's youthful dishonor, forgotten by 
all but my father, the man he had destroyed. He shall know that secret 
did not die with him — that I inherit it. 



16 HENKY DTTNBAK. 

Enter Lauka, l. 

Marg. Laura! 

La'jha. Oh, Margaret darling ! {runs up and Jclsscs her.) - 

Maug. Laura, you here ! I had no notion you were in town. I thougl't 
you were in Warwicksliire or I sbouldu't have come. 

Lauka. I'm so dehghted to see you. I intetcciited your card. To 
tliink of your having business with pa^ja ! What, is it ] 

]\1aiig. I cannot tell you. 

Lauka. Oh, ho, a .secret! But what's the matter 1 You're in deep 
moiu-niiig! 

Makg. {(urns away). I have lost my father since I saw you. 

Lauka. My poor Margaret — and I was thinking only of my own hap- 
piness ! , 

j\LvRG. Never mind me ; tell me of that, dear. 

Lauka. Arthur Lovell has pro])osed and been accepted by papa. 

Makg. I congratulate you ; and from my heart I wish you happy. 

Laura. I wanted cheering up so much ! Papa was so cold and stern. 
lie seemed always to have some dark thought on his mind. 

Makg. Yes, yes. 

Lauka. But it seems he was very fond of me all the while. He has 
been speaking to Arthur so feelingly, he says, about the blessing of a 
daughter's love. 

Marg. {ivith a wild little ery). Oh, I cannot bear this ! 

Laura. Forgive me, I did not think of your loss : it's so hard not to 
be selfish, when one's so happy. 

Marg. {aside). And I must destroy all this happiness, and so horribly ! 
Not now, not while she is here, {to Lauka) On second thoughts, dear, 
give me back my card, I will not see your father. 

Laura. Oh, but you can't help yourself now, your card has gone in. 

Marg. Not here, at least^not before you. 

Laura. In that room {pointing l.) you will be quite alone. 

Marg. There is no escape! {aside) Heaven! guide me aright! Fa- 
ther, he had no mercy upon you I \^E.vit into Laura's boudoir, l. 

Laura {runs joyously across to R. door, and calls) Papa, papa ! 

Dukbak {from within). You are alone, Laura 1 

Laura. Yes, papa, quite. 

Enter Henry Dunbar, r., evidently agitated, MargareVs card in his hand. 

Dunbar. Mar — the young person who sent in this card, where is she 1 

Laura. In my boudoir — waiting to see you. Yes, you needn't stare, 
she's my dear friend, Margaret Wentworth. 

Dunbar. Your friend ! 

Laura. Yes, she used to give me music lessons. She's the dearest 
creature. (Dunbar turns aivay) But she has lately lost her father. 

Dunbar. 'What do you mean by all this 1 {Jierccly) As if didn't know 
enough — too much about her. 

Laura. 'What do you know 1 

Dunbar. That she's the daughter of that poor wretch, Wilmot ; the 
man — the man 

Laura. 'Who received you at Southampton and was so cruelly mur- 
dered ! 

Dunbar. Girl, how dare you 1 Don't you know I can't bear to think 
of it, to hear of it, that it well nigh crazes me to look back 1 

Laura. I beg your pardon, papa, but her name is Wentworth. 

Dunbar. One of Wilmot's many aliases, he told me so. I cannot see 
her. 



ACI II, 17 

Laura. Not see her, papa 1 

Dunbar. No, the sight of her would shake me too much. I should 
have to live that miserable week over again. I tell you, child, I could 
not answer for the coiise(iuences. 

Laura. Must /tell her 1 

Dunbar. Tell her what you will, so that she goes, now and forever. 
More tlian this your acquaintance with her must end. 

Laura. Oh, i)apa, I love her so — she is so fond of me ! 

Dunbar. She is not a proper acquaintance for you. Her father was 
a dishonored man, an outcast, who knows what site may be. (checking 
himself) No, no, Heaven help me! I know nothing but good of her! 
Would I could say as much other miserable father, (he turns away.) 

Laura. How am I to give her such a message 1 

Dunbar. Your love will find you words, words that will spare her pain 
— tell her that I will never see her ; that she must cease to seek it — that I 
will make her r.n allowance of two hundred i)Ounds a-j-ear. Here is the 
first fifty pounds : make her take it : poor girl, I owe it to her, Heaven 
knows, though he was not much of a father to her. 

Laura. Yet she loved him so dearly. 

Dunbar. As if / did not know that I {impetuouslt/) Go to her, I say, get 
her away, let me never hear of her again I 

[Exit R., in a state of strong excitement. 

Laura. Pale, quite pale, and scared ! 1 have never seen him look so 
before. («< door l.') Margaret ' 

Enter Margaret Wentworth, l. 0. e. 

Marg. (cagerhj). AVelll 

Laura. I'm so sorry, dear, papa refuses to see you. 

Marg. Then he knows who I am — Margaret Wilmotl 

Laura. Yes, he cannot bear the shock. 

Marg. I understand. 

Laura. He fears to call up the horrors of that week again. 

Marg. He may \vell fear ! 

Laura. And — and — he says our acquaintance must end too I 

]\L\RG. Better it should, oh, so much better! Good-bye, my darling. 

LiAVRA {embraces Jicr passionaldg). Oh, Margaret ! It breaks my heart 
to leave you, in j'our unhap])iness, too. 

Marg. It is not your fault, (aside — going) I will bide my time. 

Laura. Stay, darling, he told me to give j'ou this, {gives envelope with 
note) You will receive the same eveiy quarter. 

Marg. {tearing up and throiving doicn the envelope) I would sooner crawl 
from door to door begging my bread of the hardest stranger in this cruel 
world — I would sooner die of starvation, pulse by pulse, and limb by 
limb — than I would accept help from his hands ! 

Laura. Margaret! Why, why is this 1 

IMarg. I cannot tell you, Laura. May you never know ! Now, for the 
last lime, good-bye, and Heaven bless you! 

Laura (sad/g). Stay a moment, I will tell my father, {going R,. turns) 
Oh, Margaret! (Margaret, sj^w^/s her in, ^lassionatelg.) 

[Exit Laura, k. 

!Marg. Another broken, of the few ties that linked my life with love! 
But he shall not escaj)e me. I will dog his stejis — I will haunt his go- 
ings-out and his comings-in, hut I will see him, and he shall see me, if I 
wait till I drop down dead ! {going, c.) 



18 HENEr DUNBAE. 

Enter Clement Austin, c, xvith papers in his hai/d. 

Clem. You here, Margaret ! {takes her hand affect ionntchj) Ah, t little an- 
ticipated the pleasure of this meetiug. It is so many weary days since 
we met. 

Makg. Tliat was by my own wish, Clement, I can wrestle best with my 
sorrow single-handed. But you know this man, or you would not be 
here ] 

Clem. Know liim, Margaret 1 Scarcely ; but I'm chicrf cashier in the 
great house he is senior partner in. Look, {.shoics 2)aper) I am bringing 
him this abstract of accounts, as a prejjaration for his first visit to the 
house this afternoon. 

Marg. {eagerly). Clement, you must take me there. 

Clem. To the City, darling 1 

Marg. Where )ic will be. You must jiutme where I can see and speak 
with him — alone, if possible ! 

Clem. Margaret ! what have you to do with this man 1 

Marg. Hem-y Dimbar owes my father an awful debt. I want to re- 
mind him of that debt : to claim, not restitution — Heaven help me and 
him, it is too late for that — but reparation ! 

Clem. Why not let me urge your claim upon him 1 

1\Iai{g. Nobody can speak to him as I can. Question me no more, Cle- 
ment. Will you do this for me, for the sake of our love 1 

Clem. I will. I know you would ask nothing it woald bs wrong of me 
to do. 

Makg. My ow'u noble Clement ! 

[Exeunt Clement, r., Margaret, l. 

SCENE SECOND. — Waitinrj-room in the Bemk of Dnnbar, Eunbar and Ual- 

dcrhj. 

Enter Me. Balderbt, R., ruhhing the sleeves of his eoat, and the knees of his 
trousers, the Maj on folloiving in the aet of apology. 

Major. I'm immeasurably grieved ! Allow me, mj' dear sir. (assisting 
him to remove the dirt.) 

Bald. No more apologies, sir, you knocked me down, you've picked 
mo up again, j'ou say you didn't mean it, there's an end of the matter. 

Major. Excuse me, sir, there is not an end of the matter. There's my 
se]f-re2>roach. Major — I shall have to say to myself for some time to 
come — Major, you're an ass! Major, you're a moon-calf! 

Bald. Pooh, pooh, sir ! I'm not hurt : a brush and a basin will do all 
that's necessary — so good morning. 

Major. Good morning I By the way, I should like to know the name 

of my preserver — that is the gentleman I've had the misfortune (Bal- 

DEREY g res card) Balderby ! Mister Balderby of the Great Indian House 
of Dunbar, Dunbar and Balderby ! My name is Vernon, ]\Iajor Vernon ; 
I've the pleasure of a slight acquaintance with Mr. Dunbar, and was com- 
ing here to improve it. 

Bald. Ah, made in India, I sup[)0se 1 

Major. Exactly, in India, up country; I've been knocked about in 
most quarters of the globe. Then we had a mutual accpiaintauce, that 
poor fellow Wilmot 

Bald. What, Joseph Wilmot, the man who 

IMajor. Exactly ! melancholy case. May I ask if Mr. Dunbar is in 
the house at present ! 

Bald. He's expected every minute. 



ACT II. 19 

Ma JOB (aside). If I could draw him of a fiver — a post obit on poor Joe's 
account ! (to Balderby) I should like to see him, to talk over our old 
Indian reminiscences. 

Bald, {aside), free and easy— ;-looks shabby — dare say Dunbar has 
known some queer customers in India. If you'll send in your name to 
Mr. Dunbar, Major 

Unter Haktogg, l. 

Ah, Mr. Hartogg ! Our first diamond merchant, Major ! {(hey bote) 

Major {aside). A diamond merchant ! My heart warms to him, and 
hands too. {breathes on hisjin(jcrs, while he speaks Balderby and Hartogg 
talk (ipnrt.) 

Bald. What ! j-ou don't mean that Mr. Dunbar has begun buying dia- 
monds already 1 

Hart. Means to give his daughter the finest thing in brilliants ever 
made up, so he has sent for me, and samples of my best stones. 

Bald, {shrugs his shoulders). Well, if he likes to make ducks and drakes 
of his money ! 

Hart. AVould you like to see the stones, Mr. B. 1 {gelling out diamond 
paper from sandicieh box, fastened round his waist by ciiain) There's beauties, 
single and double cut ! 

Bald. No, no ; Ive no taste for such trumpery, if Dunbar has. I'll 
Bend you word when he comes. [Exit Balderby, l. 

Hart. Trumpery ! Call stones like these " trumpery >l' ^lajor ? 

Major. A narrow-minded man, sir ! Only understands money in the 
rough, /know something about stones, I flatter myself; if you would 
permit me to glance at them. (Hartogg opens jiaper.) 

Hart. There, I think you'll own these sjiecimen brilliants are stunners; 
they'll cat into about three hundred a piece ! 

Major {taking the paper\ Beautiful, beautiful 1 No objection to my 
flashing 'em a little, eh'? (flashes diamonds in paper) A perfect feast of iri- 
discence ! {as Hartogg folds up the other paper] the Major, still pretending 
to look eit the stones, is about to palm one.) 

Unter Carter, r. 

Carter. Mind, Major ! Your cuff's so wide one of 'em might slip up, 
{taking stones from him, folds jm^m- and gives it baek to Hartogg") Best put 
'em up, Mr. Hartogg, they're ticklish things to handle. 

Major {aside). Confound his interference — it's luihandsome ! 

Hart. I little expected to see you here, Mr. Carter. 

Carter. The Major here is an old friend of mine. I saw him come in 
with Mr. Balderb}', and could not resist the temptation of shaking hands. 

Major {aside to htm, severehj). None of your chaff, sir. 

Hart, {lookvig off, l.). Well, I'm off to the parlor, here's the Governor. 

Major {shows agitation). Where 1 {looking off, l., starts) That ! By 
George ! 

Carter {looks sharp at him). You've seen him before 1 

Major. Yes, in India ; you know I stopped there on my way home 
from 

Carter. Australia, eh 1 {looking signifieanthj at him.) 

Major. Exactly, when I came home as subaltern in charge of invahds. 

Carter {aside to him). Yoa are a cool hand, Mnjf)r. 

Major {aside to Carter). If you must spoil sport, Harry, you needn't 
take away a fellow's character. 



20 HENEY DTJNBAU. 

Enter Messenger, l. 

Messen. Mr. Dunbar will see Mr. Hartogg. [Exit Hartogg. 

Major {writing on card inpeiwtl). Take iu my card, Major Vavasour ! 

[Exit Messenger, l. 

Carter. Hallo, Major, another alias 1 

Major. You drive me to it, Harry ; you've no respect for the feelings 
of a fellow's godfathers and godmothers. 

Carter. I was just iu time; another minute and you would have 
ramped one of those sparklers, you know you would. 

Major. Your remark is i>ersonal, Mr. Carter. You nobbled me at 
Winchester on an unfounded charge ; you ought to be ashamed of your- 
self. Luckily I did prove my alibi then, to the satisfaction of a jury of 
my countrymen ; but if I'm to have yon alwaj's at my heels, I might as 
well be in quod at once ; so good morning, Mr. Carter. [Exit Major, l. 

Carter. No you don't, Major ; I don't lose sight of you so easily ; 
with money and blank chacks about, and diamonds handy — who knows 
— you might be tempted. [Exit Carter, l. 



SCENE THIPvD. — The Bank Parlor, glass doors u-ith curtains over them, c. ; 
doors first and second, l. andn. ; window with blinds — Dunbar at table, 
with Hartogg, who is refolding his papers, BALDEKBy tilth his back to 
the fire. 

Dunbar. Then we understand each other. By Thursday you will 
bring me the diamonds unset, to the tune of from seventy to' eighty 
tiiousand pounds. You see I want an investment as well as an orna- 
ment, Mr. Hartogg. 

Hartogg. And white stuff like that is rising twenty per cent, every 
year — I'm proud of the order, sir, and I'll do justice to it. 

[Exit Hartogg, l. 

Balderby comes forward and sits at table, c. 

Bald. Now we can go into business. I only got your letter from 
Warwickshire on Saturday. Luckily every thing was ready, so if you'd 
like to look at the books 

Dunbar. No, Mr. Balderby, I'm quite content to remain a sleeping 
partner: the house will get on quite as well without me. My business 
to-day is purely personal. I'm a rich man, but I don't know exactly how 
rich, and I want to realize a large amount of readj' money. (Balderby 
bows) There are the settlements for my daughter's marriage with Arthur 
Lovell, and their allowance and this gew-gaw. I mean to do things 
handsomely. I'm not a demonstrative man, Mr. Balderby, but I love my 
daughter, (^passes his handkerchief orcr his face.) 

Bald. No doubt of that, Mr. Dunbar. 

Dunbar. My father's account has been transferred to my name, I 
think 1 

Bald. Last September, {rises and rings) If you'd like to see the state 
of it : it's all ready. 

Enter Messenger, c. 

Send Mr. Austin with Mr. Dunbar's account. [Exit Messenger, c. 
Mr. Austin is an invaluable cashier. 



ACT II. 21 

Enter Austin with bcoJcs, Dunbar Imvs to Jnin, c. — He places the look before 
him open al a mark — Dunbak runs his finger down to the total, 

DtiNBAK. ,£137,926 17s. 2d. How is this money invested 1 

Clem. i;50,000 in India stock, about £20,000 in railway debentures, 
most of the rest in Excliequer Bills. 

DuNBAK. Tliey can be realized at once. 

Bald. Ratlier a large amount to draw out of the business ; (rubbing 
his hands chcerfally) but I hope we can afford it, 

DuNBAK. You will liold yourself ready to cash some heavy checks of 
mine in the course of the weelc. (rising.) 

Bald. Certainly, Mr. Dunbar. Is tlmt alii 

DuNBAK. All at present. 

Bald. Then FU bid you good morning, (aside) Short but sharp and to 
the point. Quite like business. 

Kvit Balderby, c, Austin taJces books and is following. 

Dunbar. Stay, Mr. Austin. (AnsTi^ puts doivn books and pauses, listening 
respeelfullg.) I want to arrange about an annual payment — not my own 
account. Perhaps you will hare no objection to letting the money pass 
through you. 

Clem. None whatever, sir, if you will let me know the amount and the 
person. 

Dunbar. Two hundred pounds, to be paid quarterly to Miss Margaret 
Wilmot. 

Clem. Margaret Wilmot ! 

Dunbar. Or Wentworth, the daughter of my old servant. He may be 
said to have died in my service, besides, I owed him some compensation 
for an early and involuntary injury. 

Clem. I know, sir. 

Dunbar. You know"? You know my early relations with that man — 
from whom ! 

Clem. From his daughter herself! I told her I was sure you would 
acknowledge her claims on you. 

Duxbak. You only did me justice. You know her well then ? 

Clem. Very well, sir. I am deeply interested in her. We are engaged, 
sir. 

Dunbar. Engaged ! I am glad of it from my heart — I congratulate 
you. You have found a treasure. 

Clem. How little slie dreams that j^ou appreciate her so truly. 

Dunbar. I do. Heaven knows I do ! Let her know it. 

Clem. She thinks you hate her. 

Dunbar. Hate her I 

Clem. At least that you avoid her in a way only to be explained by 
hate or fear, 

Dunbar. She is wrong, very wrong. I don't wish to see her, you can 
miderstand that. But I mean well by her, and I shall be a haiii)ier man 
to know her liapjiy. Look here, Mr. Austin, the management of our In- 
dian Branch is vacant, wliat do you say to taking it 1 

Clem. Sir ! I never dreamed of having such a chance. 

Dunbar. You would take her with you. 

Clem. I fear she would refuse, she has set her heart on discovering her 
father's murderer. 

Dunbar. So I've heard, but she must not waste her life on fruitless 
quest i at least, let her know of this offer, and assure her, do assure her. 



2*2 



HENRY DUNBA 



she has a friend in me. Promise me to satisfy lier of that — promise me. 
I shall not be easy till I know you liave succeeded. 

Clem, {goimj). I will do my best and let ^-ou know the result, {going — 
aside) He means what be says, and yet this morbid unwillingness to meet 
her face to face ! \^Exit c. 

Enter Messengek, c. 

Messen. Mr. Carter ! 

DiiNBAK. Carter? 

Messen. The famous detective, sir. The house has often employed 
him in forgery cases, sir 

DuNBAK. SlX)W him in. — {Exit Messenger.) — I cannot bear this much 
longer. 

Enter Carter, c. 

You wished to see me, Mr. Carter ] Sit down. 

Carter. Thank you, Mr. Dunbar. It's about that man that was mur- 
dered at Winchester — Wilmot 

Dunbar. Am 1 never to hear anything but that name. I beg your par- 
don. Go on, what of hinil 

Carter. I was thinking of going down to the s]iot myself, and I 
thought iierhaps you miglit like to meet me there. %ou see the County 
Constabulary is a slow lot, and in spite of your £100 and her Majesty's 
XlOO, the job seems to hang fire. 

Dunbar. It would be very painful — still if I could get away from busi- 
ness — but you see there's so much to do after my long absence in India. 

Carter. Naturally, sir. 

Bunbar. Don't start without seeing me. Meantime if you want an ad- 
vance for preliminary expenses 

Carter. Well, these things does walk into money. If you like to stand 
a tenner or two. 

Dunbar. Take this, {gives notes) And if you require more, command my 
purse, Mr. Carter. 

Carter. You cant say fairer than that, sir, can you 1 {putting up notes) 
You see I'm ralher sweet on the job. It ain't so much the reward, 
though two hundred pounds ain t to be sneezed at, nor the man himself 
— he was a bad lot — but it's his daughter, as nice, pretty-looking, hard- 
working a girl as you'd wish to see, sir ; she's set her heart on spotting 
the parties — finding on 'em out, that is. 

Dunbar. What is her idea"? 

Carter. If you'll not mind my mentioning it, sir^ — in course there's 
nothing in it — but she've the idea yon had a hand in it. {half laugliing.) 

Dunbar. I ! Monstrous ! And she accuses me ? 

Carteii. Ah ! it ain't agreeable to have that sort of thing entered in 
the charge-sheet agin one, is it, sir 1 " But whore's the motive V I says to 
her: "My father's knowledge of his secret ;" she says to me: ''Non- 
sense," I says to her, " Mr. Dunbar's got money enough to buy all the se- 
crets that ever was kept : secrets is like olher articles," I says, " they're 
only kep' to sell," Well, I'll let you know, before I start. Good morn- 
ing, sir. ^Exit Carter, c. 

Enter Messenger c, with card — IIenrt Dunbar's back is to c. door. 

Messen. {giving card). Major Vavasour. 

Dunbar I cannot see strangers — {enter the Major quiethj, c.) say I'm 
engaged. (Messenger turns to go, sees </iC Major, and exits astonished.) 
Major {coming f:.rwurd). Don't say so, Mr, Dunbar, Don't cold shoul- 



ACT ir. 23 

der an old friend, who has had rather too much cold shoulder lately, and 
is anxious to return to hot joints. (IIe^ry Dunbar rises, and Jixes his eye 
upon htm — an inward struggle — lie drinks a glass of water, and remains stand- 
ing and silent) I see you lerueiuber me. 

Dunbar. Stephen Vallance. 

Major. Excuse lie, didn't you get that card 1 Vavasour — Major Va- 
vasour; my friends at the corner — Field Lane Corner, I mean — gave me 
my military rank, and I treated myself to the family addition. If one in- 
sisted on calling people by their true names, [signijieantly') who knows 
what it might come to. But I see you don't mean to cut me. 

DcTNBAR. I never disown an old acquaintance. AVhat do you want 1 

ISIajor. "Well, not to put too line a ])oint on it, most of the things 
you've got — a good coat on my back, a quiet traji, a rcchenhe dinner with • 
a bottle of sound claret to it, and above all, a handsome balance at my 
banker's. 

Dunbar {sighing, draws chech-booJc to him). How much 1 

Ma.ior. Well, as j'qu are kind enough to propose a check, make it a 
thumper. 

Dunbar. You shall not find me stingy. 

Major. No, there always was something princely about you ; suppose 
we say a couple of thou 

Dunbar. Two thousand pounds ! at once ! 

Major. Yes it seems a lump of money, especially when there's only 
two hundred pounds offered for the discovery of a murder ; but you see 
I've an investment or two in my eye — and then, {surreging himself) what 
the builders call " general repairs" come expensive. (Dunbak gives him 
check — the Major examines it carefallg) To bearer — that's right. But I 
say, Mr. Dunbar, honor bright, you mean business 

Dunbar. I should think that check a pretty good proof of it. 

Major. A splendid'beginning, but it's not to be beginning, middle, and 
end, is it 1 You aint a-going to come the gentle bolt — an early mizzle 
across the Ilerring-jiond, eh, friend of my soul 1 

Dunbak. Why should I run away 1 

Major. Just what I say ! Why should a man cut landed estates, fine 
houses, half a million of mone5', and attached friends who knew him in 
earlier days 1 Still, I've seen a thing or two — that little diamond game, 
you know, {signifeantly) If this attached friend's re-appearance has any- 
thing to do with such an idea — dismiss it. 

Dunbar. You may make your mind as easy about any probability of 
my bolting as I do about any chance of danger from you. 

Major. Oh, you're not afraid of me, then '? 

Dunbar. You're no fool, and you know the story of the Goose with 
the Crolden Eggs ! No, Vallance — Vavasour, I mean — I m not afraid of 
you. 

Major. Well, you know best. Now to cast my chrysalis, and emerge 
the gilded butterfly of the summer hoxir. (takes his hand) How cold your 
hand is. Re-action from India, I suppose — ta, ta, au reservoir, as we say 
in the classics ! [Exit, c. 

Dunbar. There must be an end of this or an end of me ! Another 
sword hanging over my head ! As if she was not enough ! I must have 
Austin's decision. {';oing — pjjens c. door, but starts back and closes it hastily) 
Ha ! she is there, in close conversation with Austin ! She didn't see me ! 
(rings.) 

Enter Messenger, c. 

Send i\Ir. Austin to ma. By the way, is there no way in and out of 
this room without facing the draught of that passage 1 



24 HENliY DUNBAK. 

Messhn. There's the private door, sir, (jmntinff to aoor, r.) leading 
througli the yard into Botolph's Lane. [Kvit Messenger, c. 

Dunbar. That is my road. Who can have brought her here 1 Does 
Austin share her suspicion 1 

Enter Clement Austin, c. — Dpnbak takes care to station himself so as not to 
be seen from the jjassage when c. door opens. 

Clem. I have seen Miss Wentworth. 

Dunbar. I know you have, {stirnlij) Was it you who brought her here, 
wlio stationed her in tiiat passage 1 

Clem. It was at her earnest desire. 

Dunbar. So, you make yourself a party with her in dogging your em- 
ployer ! Take care, Mr. Austin. 

Clem. I don't understand you, sir. I assist her in an object which 
seems to me i)erfectly natural. She wishes to urge tlie claims that flow 
from her father's wrongs. 

Dunbar. You have explained to her that I admit tliem to the full 1 

Clem. She is not satisiied. 

Dunbar. You have told her of my offer of this Indian appointment ] 

Clem. She refuses to accompany me — she lU'ges me to decline the 
situatioru 

Dunbar, And you are content to be a puppet in her hands ! Poor 
weak fool. 

Clem. Mr. Dunbar ! these are words I will not i^ut up with from any 
man. 

Dunbar (^more and more vchemcnthj). Quarrel with your opportunity ! 
Thrust fortune from you ! Plot against your employer — his good name, 
and while you are the salaried servant of the house ! 

Clem. I will not touch its pay from to-day. Mr. Dunbar, I give the 
firm notice to provide themselves with another cashier. \Ih:it, c. 

Dunbar. Come back, Mr. Austin, {going after him, shrinks from the door) 
He's gone ! I cannot encounter her pale, sad face ! (rings) There is noth- 
ing left but this. 

Enter Messenger, c. 

Tell Mr, Balderby I shall not be back to-morrow. I am going down to 
Maudsley Abbey, till after Miss Dunbar's marriage. 

[Exit hastily hy private door. 
Marg. {at door, c). Let me go, Clement ! I will see him 1 

Enter Margaret and Clement, c. 

Marg. Gone ! 

Messen. Mr. Dunbar, miss 1 Off down to Maudsley Abbey. 

[Exit Messenger, c. 

Marg. What did I tell you, Clement % Is this flight or is it not 7 He 
avoids me. I will not be shaken off. He flies from London. I will fol- 
low him to Maudsley Abbey ! 

Clem. Nay, Margaret, his early wrong to your father was heavy, but 
that's near thirty years ago. 

Marg. {interrupting) His early wrong ! do you think that is the crime 
I mean 1 

Clem. What other has he committed 7 

Marg. I may speak it now — now that you no longer eat his bread. 
{^ivith concentrated earnestness) Henry Dunbar is my father's murderer ! 

END OF ACT SECOND, 



ACi III. 25 



ACT III, 

SCENE. — Room in 3[audslcy Abhnj — Picturesque Elizabethan room, tapestry- 
hung or panncl C(l — iciiiji,w, c, lookuiy tn an autumnal landscape — doors, 
K. 3 E., and l. 1 and 3 E. — Jii'e-j lace, r., antique chairs, tables and 
eabtncls, heavy crimson draperies, bottles and ylasscs on side table, L. — time, 
late on an autumn afternoon — Maky discovered at icindoiv. 

Mary. There they goes, bless 'em ! Oh wherevei- have I been and put 
tliat old shoe 1 (Jlnds it in her poehct and throws it out of icindoiv, l. u. e.) 
Oh, my, if I haven't hit the butler riglit atop of his bald liead. {calls out 
of icindoiv) Beg your pardon, sir, I didn't go to do it. Oh, my, here's 
master ! [Exit l. 1 e. 

Elder Dunbar, l. 2 e. 

Dunbar {goes to tcindow and looks out). Gone at last ! I hope she will 
be happy. But I musn't waste time moon-calfing. I can't undo the 
miserable j^ast, but the future is mine still — a dreary one at best, but bet- 
ter tlian this life. Ifs growing too dark for to-night's work, {rings) Yes, 
by to-morrow morning I shall have put the sea between me and the jury- 
ing eyes that make my life here one long, miserable watch. 

Enter Servant, l. u. e. 

Lights ! {sits and Icons his head on his licnds) Give me the brandy. Say I 
do not wish to be disturbed. {Exit Servant — drinks br^iudy) Now for my 
travelling arrangements. No circular notes, no courier for me, nothing to 
leave tlie milord trail behind nie. {takes out Icatiter belt divided into com- 
partments — liglits brought by Servant) A relic of life at the diggings — it 
must carry diamonds instead of dust now. {takes a httle canvas bag from 
his pocket, pours diamonds from it into a paper and begins to put them into the 
belt.) 

Enter Major quietly, k 3 E. 

Major. A delicate job rather, wants a steady hand. (Dunbar pauses in 
the act of filling the belt ami looks at the Major ; a diamond or two drops.) 
You've dropped some. 

Dunbar. I gave orders I was not to be disturbed. 

Major. That's why I came in so quietly, {takes hold of belt) A remark- 
ably neat thing in bells, and the best way of carrying a large amount of 
ready in a small compass I ever saw. 

Dunbar. They are brilliants I have bought for a necklace for my 
daughter. 

Major. Ah, you are so fond of your child ! {sits) If you find the lot too 
heavy 1 should be happy to accommodate you. 

Dunbar. Thank you. 

Major. AVell, the happy couple have departed. A roughish night for 
a honeyiioon. Its only lit for social enjoyment indoors. What's 
that passage of my favorite Cowper 1 {recites, suiting the action to the words) 

Now, stir the five, anl close the shutters fast. 
Let tall the cuitains— wheel the sofa louud, 
And let us welcome peacetul evening in. 

By the way, isn't there something in it about the cup that cheers but not 
inebriates waiting on each 1 Suppose we have in the cups ? 



26 HEXRY DUXUAK. 

Dunbar. I presume you'd prefer ChamV)erlin to Congou, {rings.') 
Major. That dear Dunbar ! Remembers my old tastes to a hair ! 

Enter Servant, r. d. b. 

DtTNBAB. A bottle of Burgundy. 

Major. Two, James ! [Exit Servant, r. v. e. 

Dunbar {takes a tumor tivu around the room, then stops sudderdij). Stephen 
Vallance, how long is this to last 1 

jMajor. While the present is so cozy, why should we pry into the fu- 
ture 1 

Dunbar. Or the past either ! 

Major. No, it's seldom pleasant ! do you ever lookback, Mr. Dunbar? 

Dunbar. As little as I can. 

Enter Servant icith wine, tchieh he plaees on table, then exit B. c. E . «, 

Major. My own rule ! But there are times, (thoughtfulbj, his tone grad- 
ualhj deeinnnuj into sadn ss) To-night, for instance — this room that looks so 
warm and snug in the fire light. It reminds me of just such a room, 
some thirty years ago, in an old-fashioned rectory, with a grey-headed 
couple at the fire-side, and a lad fresli fr()m college, witli his head full of 
wine-parties, and cards, and the odds, sick of home and its innocent 
pleasures already. Ah, well, let's wash away such musty memories — ■ 
what s the use of thinking. 

Dunbar. Or awakening thought. I can remember things too, things 
better left sleeping. Stephen Vallance, you should know I am not a man 
safe to provoke too far. 

Major. Like Othello — slightly altered — one not easily savage, but, be- 
ing riled, nasty in the extreme. 

Dunbar. Drop this tomfoolery ! Yet, knowing what you do, you dare 
to i)rovoke me thus ! 

Major. Provoke, mj' dear Dunbar ! 

Dunbar. To dog me in Loudon! 

Major. Dog! Oh, hang it! 

Dunbar. To follow me down here ! 

Major. Don't say follow, if followers ain't allowed. 

DuxBAR. To intrude upon me here in my own house! 

Major. Your own house 1 " 'Twas his, 'tis mine, and may be slave to 
thousands." The immortal William down on it as usual ! 

Dunbar. There must be an end of this. 

Major. Of course there must, as of all things here below, but I mean 
to keep it up as long as possible. You'll be happy to hear I've set up my 
tent not three miles fiom your park gates. 

Dunbar. You have 1 

Major. Yes, you behold in me the contented proprietor of Woodbine 
Cottage, late the freehold of Admiral Manders, now the property of Col- 
onel A'allancey. 

Dunbar (sneeringhj). Colonel Yallancey "? 

Major. Yes, I've got my step since I last saw you, and I've removed 
into another family. 

Dunbar. At least you stick to the V's ! 

Major. Yes, it saves the necessity of altering the initials on one's 
linen. 

Dunbar. I did not know you had any. 

iMajor. Henry Dunbar, that is not kind. When I first met you, my 
early friend, I don't blush to own I was short of shirts ; but as soon as I 



ACT in. 27 

came into my fortune my first investment, I give you my honor, was in 
four dozen Eurekas, tirst quality, line cambric front and wristbands. 
Linen is my pet wealcness. {jxUls down his cuffs.) 

Dunbar. Clean cutis may help to dispense with clean hands occasion- 
ally, eh 1. 

Major. Ah, a lesson of life we have both learned. But now that we 
are neighbors let us be neighborly, {takes the battle and sings.) 

DuNBAU. Well, if it must be, let us drink a long and a happy tenancy 
of Woodbine Cottage, {drinks) Colonel Vallancey, your health ! 

Major. Mr. Henry Dunbar, yours, and many of them ! We shall meet 
often, and 1 trust alwaj's as pleasantly. I can't give you the sjylendor of 
your own Elizabethan mansion, but in my little bo.x you will at least find 
comfort and a certain modest elegance, and, talking of that, my kyind, 
my generous benefactor, maj' I remark that a freehold investment, how- 
over modest, walks into money, and that furnisliing, simple as one's 
tastes may be, runs expensive. 

Dunbar. You mean you want to bleed me again 1 

Major. You Anglo-Indians are so quick ! 

Dunbar. IIow nuich this time 1 

Major. Well, the last ])rescription did me a great deal of good. Sup- 
pose we say, the draft as before. 

Dunbar. There ! {gives hiin check) And now you've a rough walk be- 
fore you, let me light you to the door. 

Major. Don't trouble yourself! (Dunbar takes the lamp, Major fakes 
it from him and puts it doK H on side table) It's flaring up, you see, as you 
did Jnst now ! {tnrns down light.) 

Dunbar {at ivindow). A dark night ! {looking oat.) 

Major. The sort of a night a man wouldn't be very safe in, if any- 
body wanted to knock him on the head, eh, Mr. Dunbar 1 

Dunbar. You are in no such danger here, if that's your meaning, Val- 
lancey. 

Major {ironicalh/). In danger from you, my early friend ! Still, if any- 
body did think of trying it on, it's as well they should know I always 
carry a young man's best companion — the six volumes bound in one ! 
{prodaces a revolver.) [Exit Major, r. u. e. 

Dunbar. No peace — no escape from this constant terror here or in 
London ! And now a spy on guard at my very door ! This decides me. 
{rings) I will not sleep another night in England ! 

Unter Servant, l. 1 e. 

Send Mary Madden to me. (exit Servant, l. 1 e.j Yes, I can trust her, 
the other servants might chatter. 

Hitter Mart, l. 1 e. 

Oh, Mary, I've a sudden call to Paris to-night. 

Mary. To Paris, sir 1 And tlie night that dark, and like to be a gala 
afore morning, keeper says ! 

Dunbar. We shall hdve a rough crossing, but I must face it. The 
business is urgent and secret. I don't want my journey talked about, 
you understand ? 

Mary. Oh nobody shouldn't get it out of me, sir, not if they cut my 
tongue out. 

Dunbar. I know you are trustworthy. I want you to pack me a small 
portmanteau yourself, and order the brougham to be ready at ten. 



28 HENlcY DUNBAE. 

Mary. That I will, punctual, sir, and I'll say you was going out for a 
niglit airing. [Hxit l. 1 e. 

Dunbar. Let me see : (IrMs at Bradshaw) I can catch the niglit mail 
at ilaudsley, and still be in lime for the tidal train to Dover — and yet, 
what's the good of fliglit ^ I may escape tlie gallows, but I can't fly 

om myself, my own thouglits. Oil, if 1 could but sleep away Ihe time 

.ora now till then Is there no forgetfulness for me in this 1 {takes 

up tvine) In branly, in opium 1 — no waking but what is full of blood and 
bitterness — no sleep without dreams worse even than waking 1 By day 
or night, in the darkness or the broad smishine, I see him before me al- 
ways. I set my brain — I brace my nerves, I thrust the hideous thing 
from me, but it will come baclv — with tiiose wide-open, glassy eyes star- 
ing up into mine ! {slinddiTs) Oh, if the darkness could hide him from me 
— could hide me from myself! If I could sleep and never wake again ! 
{Jie lets his hcadfaU on h.s hands, and sinks down at the tabic in an attitude of 
dcsjjair.') 

Enter Margaret AVextwokth cautiously at the door, she listens, first fur 
sounds of pursuit, thin for sounds m the room, then sofihj locks the door be- 
hind her, then listens and peers throwjh the half-dark of t't.e room. 

Marg. All is quiet, he sleeps ! (steals toward him, pressing her hand on her 
heart as if to stitl its beatiny) He can sleep, while I am here ! {she draics 
nearer') He mutters in his dreams ! {she listens intently.') 

Duxbar {m sleep, as if xcrcstUnij with a horrid memory). Cover his face! 
why can't you close his eyes, some of you, for pity's sake ! (Margaret 
shuddi rs. ) 

Marg. Again! {she listens ; he mutters indistinctly) What is it? 

Dunbar {m his sleep). Margaret ! 

Makg. My name ! {she turn\ up the lamp) Awake Henry Dunbar, awake, 
and look on the daughter of the man you murdered, {as Wilmot awakes 
and spru/f/s to hs feet, the light falls o>i his face ; he yazes as if bewildered.) 

Wilmot. Margaret! 

Marg. Father ! not dead ! {she mrres towards him with her tmns held out 
as if to cliisp him, then suddenly recoiling, shrieks and falls in hysterics at his 
feet.) 

AViLMOT. She's found me at last ! All's over now — better so, better so 
— better discovery and the gallows, than this daily and nightly horror. 
Look u{), Margaret, my poor girl, look up ! 

Makg. {struyijlmy to her feet and gazing wildly at him). Is this a dream ? 
Am I mad ] Who is this ] Father! {he approaches h«r, she s'.nnks back) 
No. no ! 

Wilmot. Margaret I {he holds out his hands to her) Come to me ! 

Marg. No, no ! {shuddering) There's blood on them ! 

Wilmot {looking mournfully at her and thin at his hands). There is ; blood 
wliich time nor tears — your tears and mine — can ever wash out. Don't 
look so at me, Margaret ! 

Marg. But they call you Henry Dunbar? I do not miderstand : you 
sit in liis place, this house is his! Oh, father, father, there is blood on 
everything around ! {looks round shudderin// — Dunbar approaches) Do not 
come near me, father, let me die, I will say nothing, only let me die! 

Wilmot. Margaret, it's bad enough with me, but not so bad as yon 
think. I killed him, (Margaret carvers together) but it was no foul blow, 
no planned assassination — no murder ! 

Marg. No murder ! 

Wilmot. No. Unless hot blood, and blow for blow in sudden quarrel 
be murder, this was none. 



ACT IV. 29 

I\Iarg. Father — (with a shade of joy, but checking it) think before wlioiu 
yon are speaking ! 

WiLMOT. Before my own child. 

Marg. And before Heaven ! Tliink too, tlie deed is done now : no lie 
can help, no trnth, not the blackest, can make it blacker. 

WiLMOT. Margaret you know me and my life ! I have bluslied before 
you — before my own i aughter — often : I have been silent sometimes be- 
fore you, but 1 liave never lied to you. 

M.4KG. {f./irows he self into his eo-ms) Never ! Oh, I can kiss those poor 
sinful hands — there is blood on them, but not the blood of murder. 
(again reading from him) But since then you have lived a lie ! 

WiLMOT. My only thought was how to hide my crime. 

Marg. Oh, would to 11^'aven it had been to confess il ! 

WiLMOT. Amen ! but love of life is strona. Margaret, and the devil is 
ever at hand, lie it was that Avhisi)ered " Why not take the dead man's 
name and place 1" None here remembered him. he was astranger even to 
his child. AVe were not so unlike— and so, the devil still prompting, I 
changed clothes with the dead. 

Mai*g. (she shrinks aiviig from him). Horrible! 

WiLMOT. You know the rest. What you can never know is the hell 
my life has been since then. The devil helped me bravely before the ju- 
ry, the magistrates, among strangej-s, but he left me so soon as I was alone. 
Then came the horror of my deed, the terror of detection, the stifling of 
the mask that must be worn for life, or torn off only to leave my face bare 
under the gallows ! {he hides his face in his hands and shakes witk the vwleitce 
of his emotion.) ♦ 

Marg. The gallows 1 Oh no, no ! This is a case for Heaven's justice, 
not man's. You must fly, find some safe retreat abroad, I will jo.n you 
there. 

AViLMOT. Needless, needless. There's too short a future before me 
that I should shun it. 

Marg. No, no, I will watch over you, give j'ou warning of danger, only 
promise me to fly to-night. Heaven will grant you time for repent' 
ance : it will come. 

Wtlmot {s'ldlg). It has come, "girl ; if repentance be misery unutterable, 
to wake with the wish that you may never see the night, to close youp 
eyes and hope they may never open on the morning ! 

Marg. No, father, this is remorse, not repentance. This is but the mis- 
ery of guilt, repentance brings the prayer that guilt may be forgiven. 
Father ^ve will pray that prayer together 1 {she clusjjs htm in her arms and 
kneels at his side, trying to draio him to his knees.) 

END ON act three. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE FIRST. — Seime as the last scene. — Laura ami !Mary discovered, 
\ight lamps. 

Laura. Three daj's ago, Mary! and never out of his room since 1 
Mary. Not so much as over the door-sill, ma'am. Why, they've never 
even took his clothes off, not so much as the belt he wears about him, 
all full of little 'ard knobs — as bad as wearin' a nutmeg grater around his 
waist, I should say. 



80 HENRY DUNBAR. 

Laura. Poor father ! How iucky it was we were witliin telegraphic 
reacli, iSlary, or we might not have heard of tlie accident for weelcs ! 

Maky. Yes, ma'am, we're guided, that you may take your Bible oatli 
on, wliicii when your pa told me tliat he were a-going to start olfto Paris 
all of a heap like, 1 felt something was a goin' to happen. In course I 
didn't know it was the train a-goin' to bust off the line, but something I 
knowed it was, and so 1 told Eliza. " Eliza," I says, '■ mark my words," 
I says, " something's a-goin to 'appen," and the next thing I see, not 
eight hours afterwards, was master brought back to the 'all door, in 
the Maudsley fly, and the man in his stable boots, for all the world like a 
corpse, only groanin', and as such he've lied ever since. 

Laura. Oh, Mary, how I wish I might go to him. He might love me 
now — now that he is weak and helpless, and wants tender nursing. 

Enter Lovell, k. u. e. 

Don't you think I might go to him 1 

LovELL. No, darling. Doctor Dean insists on perfect quiet, or he can- 
not answer for the consequences. Under any excitement he might sink 
rapidly. 

Laura. My poor father ! 

LovELL. The notion that he is watched initates him. I promised him 
we would all retire ; so come, darling, you must obey orders. 

Laura. Obey orders, and not four days married ! {lie kisses Jier.) 

Mary. And I m that tired, ma'am I'm a-droppiu' olf on my legs like a 
night cab 'oss. 

[Exeunt Arthur, hading Laura tenderly off, l. 2 e., 'Mary folloivin//. 

Enter Henry Dunbar, r. u. e., slotchj and with diffi^ulh/ he gropes his way 
towards the tvr it i)iy -table, supportiny himself by tiie furniture. 

Dunbar. Alone at last ! I cannot lie there and think — and yet solitude 
is better than society ; I must write to Margaret, if I can guide the pen, 
to tell her of the accident that stayed my flight — that I am lying here a 
prisoner, crippled, crushed, body and soul ! {he gets to a chair and sinks in- 
to it — takes the pen, but jja uses ere writing) She will come to me, to comfort 
my loneliness, to help me wrestle with my remorse, give me the courage, 
perhaps, to face the terrors of retribution, {shudders) It has never been 
out of my thoughts as I've been lying there. The great black beam, the 
dangling chain, the white faces of the crowd all looking up — and not one 
pitiful — and their roar of execration as I step out on to the scaflbld ! 
{shudders, loiv knocking at the window — Dunbar, terror-stricken, strugg.cs to his 
feet, and stands aghast^ with parted lips, trembling and listening) Hark! who's 
there 1 

Marg. {without, faintly, but in a voice of agonizing earnestness). Let me 
in ! For pity's sake let me in ! 

Dunbar. Margaret ! {he makes his way to the window, not without difficulty, 
and opens it.) 

Enter Margaret, haggard, dishevelled, her dress disordered, no bonnet, a shawl 
draped about her. 

Marg. Father! Thank Heaven you are up and about. 

Dunbar. What brings you here at such an hour as this % (Margaret, 
breathless and confused, and speaking with dfficulty, as if she could scarce com- 
pose her thoughts to frame words, supports herself by grasping a chair.) 

Marg. Danger ! Danger to you ! I ve been running. There's not a 



ACT IV. 31 

moment to be lost — not a moment. They'll be here directly. I feel as 
if they had been close behhid me all the way ! There is not a moment 
— nut a moment ! 

Dunbar. 1 cannot fly, Margaret; that accident ! 

Marg. I saw it in the jjapeis; that's why 1 came back herefrom "\Vin- 
chesier. 

L>uxBAK. From Winchester 1 {iji terror) AVhat has happened there. 
Why are you so haggard and worn "? 

Marg. Oh, father, I have not known one hour's peaceful sleep since 
that night. For the last two nights I have not slept at all. I have been 
on the railwaj-, walking from place to jdace, till I could drop at your 
feet ! I want to tell you, but my head is confused, and the words won't 
come somehow, [she pooits to her p'irclted lips, males last efort to speak, but 
reels, and is (ihout to fall ; Dunbar supports her and gives her brandy.) 

DuxBAU. There — there, my poor darling, you are better now. 

Marg. You must leave this house directly. They will bo hero to look 
for you — Heaven knows how soon, 

Dunbar. They 1 who 1 

Marg. Carter, the detective, and — and Clement Austin. 

Dunbar. Austin! your lover 1 you have not betrayed mo, Margaret. 

Marg. I ! oh, father ! 

Dunbar. No, no, forgive me ! But what brings them here — they have 
no proof. 

Marg. No proof? Oh, father, j-ou don't know — you don't know — 
they've been to Winchester. It was my doing — I urged Carter and 
Clement. I did not know, then. But I went after them. I watched 
them, and all they did — unseen — in the streets — down through the mea- 
dows — in that wood, {she shudders) They went straight to a pond, and 
began dragging the water. 

Dunbar. Dragging the water 1 

Marg. I did not know then what they wanted to find. 

Dunbar, {with feverish cagermss) But did they find it ? 

Marg. Yes ; a bundle of soddened and discolored rags ! 

Dunbar. Dunbar's clotlies ! his name was on them ! 

Marg. I waited for no more — I ran all the way to Winchester, to the 
station ; I took the first train to London, the night mail to Maudsley, I 
ran hither ! 

Dunbar. They know all by this time. They will be here soon ! Well, 
let them come, better it should end at once. 

Marg. No, father, no. It is not that you may escape the penalty of 
your deed. Oh, as if you could do that ! But I would leave your pun- 
ishment in Heaven s hand, not man's. You must fly ! 

Dunbar. I cannot ; this accident. Margaret, I am a doomed, perhaps, 
a dying man. I have tiie doctor's word for it. But I feel it here {puts 
his hand to his heart) without that 

Marg. Oh, no, no I you can walk, {he shakes his head) Onlj' as far as 
the stables 1 I can saddle a horse : j'ou may reacli the station unseen : 
which is the way to the siables ? 

Dunbar. By that window to the right, {points to windoiv, r. 2 e.) 

Marg. {taking lamp) Wrap yourself up warm, father. I will be back 
directly. [Exit r. 2 e. 

Dunbar. I will make a last effort for her sake, poor girl. After all, 
life is sweet, and repentance — repentance ! Oh, if I were sure that would 

come — such repentance as the spoke of that comes by i)raying for, 

that brings the hope to be foi-given! If misery can bring that hope, it 
should come to me. {puts his hand to his breast) That pain again, like a 
knife in niv heart ! Shall I have strength to sit a horse, I wonder-l 



32 HENKY DUNBAE. 



Re-enter Margarkt, r. u. b. • 

Marg. Now let me help you with your coat, (^helps him on with loose 
coat) The horse is saddled, I'll assist you to mount. Come, quick and 
silently ! 

Dunbar. But you, my girl — they must not find you here. 

Marg. You did not think I would leave you, lather 1 I will lead the 
horse or hold by the stirrup, it's only three miles to tud station. Never 
fear me, 1 11 net faint : look how strong I am. 

Dunbar. Margaret, to go with me is to couple yourself with shame 
and danger, on a road that leads only to death, one way or other. 

Makg. The more need of my arm to stay you along that road, {plead- 
ing passiotiatrhj with him') Let me go with you, father! There is nothing 
for me in all the world except the hope of forgiveness for you. I want 
to be with you, I do not want you to be alone with your own thoughts ! 
Father, I will go with you ! {she clasps him in her arms; they exeunt at ivin- 
dow.) 

Enter Laura, in a wrapper, l. 2 K. 

Laura. I thought l heard voices ! I must have been dreaming ! No, 
I couldn't have been dreaming, for I've never been asleep, I'm quite sure 
of that, {goes up Jo door o/ Dunbar's room, k. u. e.) All's quiet. Is papa 
asleep, I wonder 1 The door's ajar : there's a lamp burning : I've a good 
mind to peep in. {pusJies door a little open) He must be asleep ! {goes m a 
little further) The bed's empty ! AVhat does this mean ! Gone ! {calls) 
Arthur ! 

Enter Lovell, ii., followed by Mart. 

LovELL. Laura, Vv-hy are you here, what's the matter ? 
Lauka. Papa ! he's not in his bed, not in his room, not here 1 
LovELL. Not in his room 1 {enters Dunbar's room hastily.) 
Laura. Oh, Mary, what can have happened 1 

Mary I shouldn't wonder, ma'am, if he's been took delirious and gone 
off. [knocking without, l. 

Le-entcr Lovell, r. u. e. 

Laura {starts). Hark ! {going, Lovell ftops her.) 
Lovell. Go, Mary, see who that can be, at this hour. 

[Exit Mary, k. 2 e. 
Laura. If it should be some terrible tidings of ])apa ! 
Lovell. Compose yourself, my darling ; we must rouse the servants. 

Enter Mary , follou-ed by Carter and Austin, r. 2 e. 

JIart. These gentlemen — {gires carets) they say they must see Mr. Dun- 
bar, which 1 ve told them he's confined lo his hcd, leastways, he wore. 

Lovell {of er looking at carets). Mr. Carter, Mr. Clement Austin, the cash- 
ier at the bankl {to Austin.) 

Carter. Yes, we're here on very important bank business. Mr. and 
Mrs. Lovell, I believe 1 lboiv:ny) We must insist, I'm afraid, early as it is, 
on knocking u[) Mr. Dunbar. 

Lovell. I wish you could find him, sir, or we either. 

Carter. What do j-ou mean "? 

Lovell. He is gone! 

Carter. Gone ! What d'ye mean, gone 1 {stamps his foot.) 



ACT IV. 33 

LovELL. Disappeared from his room there, wliere we left him in bed, 
from the effects of the railway accident. 

Carter. Disappeared! {goes into bcdiooiiiR.ij.E.) 

Clem. My friend is a little abrupt, but he has a strong motive for find- 
ing Mr. Dunbar. We read in the papers that the accident was serious. 

Lacra. Oh, most serious. 

LovELL. 1 had no idea he could have left his bed. 

Maky. Ah, please sir, nobody knows wliat delirium will do. I 
know, 'cos once I see a gent in a lodging house before I came to Miss 
Wentworth's, he had what they call the trimmins ! and he were that ram- 
pagious — 

He-enter Carter, r. it. e. 

Carter. Gone, sure enough ! how was he dressed "? 

LovELL. As at the time of the accident : he would not allow us to un- 
dress him. 

Carter {impatiently). Don't argue, answer me, what had he on 1 

LovELL. A black suit. We reniuvod his loose travelling coat. 

Mary. And he've ])ut it on again, leastways, it was here last night and 
it's gone now from that blessed chair. 

Carter {cuttDig /(C?- s/iort, to Loyell). What was that coat 1 

LovELL. Brown cloth lined with fur. I must give orders to the ser- 
vants to search the shrubberies, the park. 

Carter (aside). That won't do any harm, but I think you'd better trust 
to me. Can he have gone to the office 1 {to Lovell) Would you let niQ 
see Mr. Dunbar's body servant alone for a few minutes. 

Lovell. We will send him to you. Come, Laura. 

Laur^. I am- so terrified. Oh, sir, do you think there is any fear of 
suicide 1 

Carter. I hope not, ma'am, {aside) It would be cheating Calcraft. 
Leave me to look for him, me and Mr. Austin, here. Oil, make your 
mind easy, ma'am, if he is to be found, I'll find him. 

Laura. Oh thank you, thank you ! [Jixit Laura, l. 2 e. 

Carter {to Mary ivho is going after Laura). Stop, yoa girl ! 

Mary. Bless the man, how you snap one's head off. 

Carter. How long does this burn 1 {points to lamp.) 

Mary. Ten hours, sir. 

Cakter {pours out oil from lamp into grate). When was it filled last 
night 1 

Mary. Quarter afore seven, sir, which I done it myself, because 
Eliza . 

Carter {interrupting her). It must have been burning till past four, he 
hasn't more than half an hour's start of us ; come, Mr. Austin, never 
fear, we'll run into him yet ! [lixit r. 2 e. 

Mary {at ft-e-ijlace). Oh, lud a mercy, here's a mess ! {seta herself to 
tilean grate — closed in by 

SCENE SECOND. — Entrance Hall of Woodbine Cottage — Knocking at entrance 
door, L. 1 E. 

Enter the Major, r., in his dressing-gown and sappers, as if disturbed. 

Major. Not five o'clock, and a knocker solo that would do credit to 
the biggest Jeames in Belgravia ! This is the quiet of the country ! 
Well, the days are dull enough. When they do get i;p a row, it's in the 
middle of the night, apparently, (knock) And that exemplary maid of 
nine can sleep through all this 1 What a privilege ! {knocking again) Oh, 



34 HENEY DUNBA. 

hang it, they evidently won't take tw answer, {knock) Now then, do you 
mean to knock the door down 1 {exit as if to open the door and returns with 
Margaret, l. u. e. — the Major astonished) A lady ! and in a state of 
excitement ! 

Makg. 1 am Margaret Wilmot ! 

]\Iajok. Joe's daughter ! {the Major shows surprise.) 

Mahg. My father is outside, he has left the Abhey — Carter is in pur- 
suit of him. 

jNIajor. What ! Harry has found out the double 1 Serve him right ! 
And you've brought him here 1 

Marg. He has fainted — you will not refuse him shelter — an old friend 
of yours — a dying man perhaps, and justice on his track. You would 
not shut your door against him '} 

Major. Poor devil ! 

Marg. I beg, I implore you, to give him shelter for a little while. 

Major. Poor girl ! {crosses l.) Major, its a weakness — there is such a 
thing as being accessory after the fact ; but when did lovely woman in 
distress ap])eal to you in vain ] I'll take him in. [£xit Major, l. 

Marg. Oh, thanks, thanks ! If we can but rest here till he gains 
strength, or, if death must overtake him, that it may be in my arms, not 
in a prison cell, not under the shadow of the scaffold ! 

Re-enier Major, l. 

Major. I've taken him into my room ; can you put up the horse \ 
The stable's at the back of the house 1 

Marg. Yes. our arrival must not be talked of; you go to him till I re- 
turn. Oh, sir. Heaven will reward you for this. \]bxit k. 

Major. Heaven, eh 1 I don't keep an account at that bank. {shotvi)ig 
the Mt as worn by Wilmot) The belt with those diamonds — I relieved him 
of it — humanity, like virtue, is its own reward, {secretes belt) If I could 
hook it with this, my fortune would be made in one coup. 

Re-enter Margaret, k. 

Major. I've been reflecting. Your distress inspires my warmest sym- 
pathy ; Carter don't know your father ; supi)ose we change clothes. I'll 
make liim up a j)icture of venerable respectability. 1 could start by the 
train, and so draw off the dogs, while he takes my place here. 

Marg. Oh, bless you for the thought. Be quick, and make the change 
— I'll watch here. Oh, how shall we ever repay you ! 

Majok {fastening the belt). The luxury of dohig good is enough for me ! 
[Exit Major, r., Margaret /o^/otrs in thankfidiiess to theuing, 

JEnter Clement Austin, l. 

Clem. The door open at this hour ! Carter's suspicions may be well 
foamded. (Margaret turns and sees him) Ah, Jlargaret ! 

Marg. Discovered ! and by him ! 

Clem. At last ! my poor darling ! {approaches her, she waves him hack.) 

Marg, No, Clement, there is an end of love between us. Would therq 
was an end of life as well. I learnt the worst that night. I dared not 
meet you again, with the blood stain of that secret on my soul. I fol- 
lowed you to Winchester. 

Clem. Then it was no delusion ; that veiled figure in the street, that 
shadow amongst the trees ! 

Marg. It was I, Clement, watching that I might warn my £ather. I 



Aci lY, ys 

have warned him — I have brouglit liim hither. He is in this house, a 
dying man ! Clement, you will nut denounce liini 1 

Clem. Margaret ! you wring my heart. Must I screen a murderer ^ 

Maro. No, Clenient> he is no murderer ! Henry Dunbar died by his 
hand, but from a blow in sudden quarrel, roused by bitter taunts and 
sore provocation. Ii is true, Clement, I have never lied to you yet, and 
would not now, not even for a fatlier's life. 

Clem But there is Carter — I am here by his orders — he will follow me 
directly to search this house. 

Makg. And he will take him from me! Will give him up to the law, 
to a prison ! and now, now that he is dying ! Oli, Clement, leave him to 
Heaven's mercy ! Let him die with one loving face near him — one voice 
of comfort and compassion in his ears 1 Do not tear him from me — do 
not — do not ! 

Clem. Margaret, I will stand aloof ; I will not lift hand or voice 
against your father. 

Marg. I knew I might trust you, Clement ! (« whistle heard o/.) 

Clem. Hark! Carter's signal! 

Makg. Detain him here as long as you can. Lives may hang on min- 
utes now. Yes, Clement, I knew I might trust you ! [Exit, r. 1 e. 

Unter Carter, l. 1 e. 

Carter. Door open ! 

Clem. I left it open behma me. 

Carter. You got in without trouble 1 (Austin tiods) No waiting, eh 1 
Oh, there was some one up, then 1 (Austin nods) Who 1 

Clem. A girl. 

Carter. At five 1 That ain't natural ! I must see her and her mas- 
ter. 

Clem. She has gone to let him know of our visit. 

Carter. Him 1 I've set one of the Abbey grooms to watch the back 
door, I've left Tommy Tibbs at the station with a description, and now 
you and me will have the cream of the job to ourselves here. 

Clem. Look here, Carter, you must look for no further help from me 
in this business. 

Carter. Mr. Austin ! What, after we've worked so nicely together 1 
I began to think you was takin' a pleasure in it. 

Clem. Taking pleasure in hunting a man down ! 

Carter. No, Mr. Austin, but in spotting a murderer. The old saying 
i« '' murder will out," but how would it be without a branch of the force, 
the metropolitan, I mean, to start it 1 No, Mr. Austin, I don't say but 
what I like my profession, but dooty ain't the less dooty because it's 
pleasure too, is it, now 1 

Clem. Do you do j'our duty. If Joseph Wilmot murdered Henry 
Dunbar he must pay the penalty. But I have told you he is the father 
of the woman I love. It is not for me to help to bring him to the gal- 
lows. 

Carter Ah, I forgot the petticoat. They always turn up somewheres, 
and mostly troublesome. But I must see the people here. 

Clem. Here comes the servant with a message from her master. 

Enter Margsarkt, k. 1 e., roughly dressed as a slovenly servant of all uork, 
icith her face tied up as from faceache : she affects surprise at sight of 
Carter. 

Marg. Hallo, here's two on 'em! 



36 HENRY DUKBAE. 

Carter. So, you are up early, my lass 1 

Makg. Couldn't get a wink of sleep all last night, please sir, 'cos of the 
toothache. Oh, do you know what's good for it! 

Carter. AVell I 'are heard, filling your moulh With cold water, and sit- 
tin on the Imb till it boils. 

Mar';. Oh lawk a massy, why it would scald me to death ' 

Carter (astdc).. She seems green enough. 

Maro Oh please sir, was you with this gentleman 1 

Carter Ves, I was. 

Marg Then master wiU see you in Ui'' parlor. But oh, please, gen- 
tlemen don't go to aggrivat* him, for he's m such a worry at being disturb- 
ed so early. 

Carter. Ah, a bad temper, has he '^ 

Marg. Oh. hawful ! 

Carter. And he don't like being told lies, does he 1 

Marg. Oh, I durstn't try him with them, sir, tiiat I dursn't. 

Carter. Then you look here : if he's bad, I'm wus, a hundred times, 
when people try we with 'em: now you know. Who's been here this 
morning 1 

Marg. Him, sir. 

Carter. No, before him. 

Marg. Nobody, sir. {rcri/ nrpidli/) One would think five o'clock was 
quite early enough, if I 'adn't been up along o' my tooth, a poor 'ard- 
working giil, that's got every blessed thing on her hands, how's she to 
stand being knocked up at five o'clock in the morning I should like to 
know, and being bullyragged into the bargain 1 

Carter {tnjiny to stop her). There, there, thei-e, I don't want to set the 
tap going : there {impatientli/) hold your jaw, girl, and show us into your 
master. \Exeunt u. 1 e., Margaret stUl chattering. 

SCENE THIRD. — Interior of the Major's sittinff-room — Broad, old-fashioned 
windoiv, c, pannelled tvalls, low ceiiing, cupboards, do/.rs r. and l., ivarm 
curtains, old-fashioned furniture — Wilmot discovered in easy chair, L., 
made up with white hair and moustache, smoking a meerschaum, in the 
Major's dressing-gown and slippers — Carter and Austin discovered, E. 

Wilmot. Two intrusions in one, damme ! AVell, gentlemen, this is cool, 
I must say, infernally cool, knocking a man up in his own house at five in 
the morning ! What is it all about 1 

Carter. We've come to make inquiry about i\Ir. Dunbar, of Maudsley 
Abbey, who has been missing since four o'clock this morning. (Wilmot's 
meerschaum moves iti his mouth, Carter watches sharply.) 

Wilmot. Gone ! Why I thought the poor fellow couldn't leave his 
room — his bed, in fact — thanks to that railway smash 1 Ah, those infer- 
nal railways ! Damme, sir, we shall see no good there till they string up 
a director or two. But if he has gone, I suppose he was free to go, eh 1 
As free as you to come here. This is a free country, ain't it, eh 1 Free 
and easy, I should say, infernally free and easy ! 

Carter. Why you see, colonel, I'm a private detective come by Mr. 
Lovell's wish to look after the poor gentleman. They're afraid the acci- 
dent's damaged him here {touches head ) We ve searched tlie park and he 
ain't there, and the lodges and he ain't there, and your cottage comes 
next, and you're an old friend, so p'raps you'd not mind our searching 
here1 

Wilmot. Rather cool, before six in the morning, but just as you please. 
Betty — {calls) meanwhile I'll turn in again, if you've no objection. 



ACT IV. 37 



fitter Margaret, l. 

Betty, show these gentleman every room in the house, {aside to her') mind, 
if you don't hold your tongue 1 11 make you jiay for it. (Carter, tv/io has 
bctn looking at the door turns round as tf lie caught the last aside.) Good morn- 
ing, gentlemen. [Exit Wilmot, dotiiy, and helping himself bg thefurnitio-e. 

Marg. [rtpetiing luphoard, r.). If you'd like to look in here, gentlemen, 
liere's where the colonel keeps his 'bacca-boxes, and pipes, and things. 

Carter. No, thank you, Miss Innocence. Just you come liere ! {brings 
her forward) All, you're an artful young hussy, and no mistake, and that 
tootliache's a judgment on you. Now, look here, what was that your 
master told you to hold your tongue about 1 

Marg. {twists her apron). Oh, please, sir, master didn't say nothing, sir, 
onlj' I was to show you round, sir. 

Carter. Oh, didn't say nothing, didn't he 1 We'll see what the judge 
says when you're had u[) before him for wilful perjury, which it s trans- 
portation for life in a young female. 

Marg. Oh, ssir, I'm so mortal 'feared o' master, he's that violent ! Why, 
if the taters ain't done to hi.s liking he'll grumble about them quite civil 
like at first, and then he'll work hisself up, and he'll shy them taters at 
you one arter another, and his language gets wus with every tater. 

Carter. You'll see what my language will get if you don't speak out. 
You'd better or ■ 

Marg. Oh, what can I do, sir 1 I daren't go agin him, I'd almost 
sooner be transported, if it don't hurt much. 

Carter. Don't hurt much ! Why, it's bread and water for life among 
the blacks 

Marg. Oh ! 

Carter And the possums 

Marg. Oh, lor ! 

Carter. And tlogging with a cat o'nine-tails t)nce a week regular. 

Marg. (in affected terror). Lawk a massy ! Oh, I'll tell you all about it, 
sir, sooner than that. Mr. Dunbar come here about five, sir, just as I was 
opening the shutters, and he was in that pain that he could 'ardly sii on 
h s horse, and he told me to call master, and master 'elped him otf. and 
got him» something, and I was ordered to rim for a fly to the Maudsley 
Arms, that's not a quarter of a mile down the road, and Muster Dunbar 
he went olf in it not an hour afore you came, and that's all, and oh pJease 
don t tell master ! 

Carter {to Clement). The girl's speaking the truth, I think. I must 
impiire about that fly. You keep an eye on all here, {to Margaret) Tell 
your master I've not time to bid him good morning. [Hxit r. 

Margaret /oZfotfs him towards door, then turns, tears off the handkerchief and 
false front, aud falls exhausted bg her effurls at self-restraint into a chair, 

Clem. Margaret ! In this disguise 1 Even I did not detect you. 

Marg. No, no ; you must leave me, Clement, leave me with my un- 
happy father. M}" portion, henceforth, is not with love and home. I 
must help to bear his heavy Jjurden ; I cannot ask you to share it. {he 
trus to speak) No words, Clement : for pity's sake, leave me and forget 
me ! 

Clem. Leave you ! I love you too well to disobey, even that command, 
But when your hour of trial comes, you will wish for me, and I will be 
at y(un- side ! [Jivit r. 

Marg. True and tender to the last ! And I nmst give up this great 



015 nExVliY DUNflAU. 

love! Yes, I can give it up, but I ciu't bear to think of it. {opcMdcm; L,, 
ieads OH her J at her, he sinks feebly into chair.) 

WiLMOT. Good girl, good girl, you did it bravely— T could kave 
liuvj;lied to see how you fooled him — and 1 too, I did not think I had so 
much life in me. {falts hack in his chair.) 

Makg. And now, father, we will leave England together, and find some 
(|uiet place abroad ; I will work fur both, we will live the sad, still life 
tii.it prepares for deatii, will we not, father 1 

WiLMOT. Ah, you are your mother's child. Did I not see her the day 
she found out what my life had been — see the color die out of her face, 
till it was whiter than the collar round her neck, and the next moment 
lis:' arms were about me, and her eyes looking into mine as yours are 
n )*v, as she said, " I shall never love you less, dear, there is nothing in 
1 1'3 world shall make me love you less ! " 

Makc. What she would have been to you father, in this hour of trial, 
shall I not be 1 Oh, as your need is sorer, lei me be more. What's the 
matter ] 

WiLMOT. I can't speak — I'm choking, {he sprinf/s up end jircsscs his hand 
to his breast.) 

^Iakg. Oh, what is this 1 

WiLMOT. Death ! not terrible, as I us'jd to see him but like one that 
brings pardon and jicaco ! Don't leave me — let me see your face and 
feel your arms to the last. Pray for me, Margaret, pray for me! {fails 
back' d':ad. ) 

Enter Clement, at windotv. 

Marg {shrieks). Dead! Gone to his account — gone forever — and I am 
all alone! {kneeU by the body.) 

CfiEM. I am here, Margaret, {tries to raise her, Carter appears at the 
icindovj with the Major m custody of Tibbs, he holds the heU tn his hau-" 

Enter Carter, r., with the belt, removing his hat reverently. 

Clem, {waves him back). Too late ! 

Marg. Not so, his judge knows, his judge is merciful 1 {looking intently 
at the body.) 

curtain: 



SYNOPSIS. 



TitE play opens in the little parlor of a humble but particularly nice-looking oottago 
at AViindsworth. Maky, the servant inaiil, is startled by a ring at the g.arden gate, 
when, lookini; out, she sees that the visitor, in a carriage, is a Miss Laura Dunbar, 
■whom she appears to greatly admire. Mis s Dunbau had called to take a music les- 
son of Makgaret Wentworth ; but tliat youns; lady being absent, the maid in- 
forms Laui-.a that she is about to leave Miss Wentwoutii's service, as her mistress 
can no longer afford to keep two servants. Lauua thereupon engages Mauy to como 
to her at the oxijiration of her service. Miss Dundar then tells Mary that she has 
a little birthday present for Maugaret, and proceeds to her room to leave it as a 
surprise. While Laura is out of the room, two men knock at the door; Mary ad- 
mits one, the other remaining outside. This person, after some preliminary ques- 
tioning as to Miss AVentworth's terms for tuition, etc., begins to question the girl 
as to Mr. Wentwouxh's habits. While the cojiversation is proceeding, Miss Wevt- 
WORTH enters; but not before Mary had informed the strans,'er that Mr. Went. 
WORTU had left early that morning for Southampton. The strange man, Mr. Car. 



HENBY DUNBAR. 89 

MSB, continues the conversation with the mistress after the maid has left to apprise 
Miss DnsBAn of Margaret's return. During lier absence, Carter takes his leave j 
but, before doing so, ejaculates a blessing on Margaret, to that young lady's great 
surprise. Margaret then takes out a letter which she had received from her fa- 
ther, but before examining its contents, she feelingly expresses a -wish that her 
father would quit the dark and desperate courses that he at times followed, so that 
others, besides her, might know sometliing of the good there was in him. In thia 
letter her father tells her that very many years ago he committed the crime of for- 
gery to save a much loved young master ; the forgery was detected, the master was 
screened, and sent off to India, wliile he was denounced, tried, and convicted. Ilia 
master might have saved him, but never opened his lips. " From that day," con- 
tinued Margaret's father, " 1 have been a branded man ; every man's hand has 
been against me." Wentworth proceeded to say that this man was coming back 
to England, and that he meant to meet him, and try if he would not do something 
for the man he had seen ruined twenty-live years before, and if he would not, he in- 
tended lo pive him a piece, of his mind. The father concluded by saying that the 
name of tlie man he expected to meet was " Ilenry Dunbar." This was none other 
than the father of her dear friend, Laura. While Margaret is pondering over this 
evil news, Clement Austin enters, and it is soon apparent by hia tender manner 
and his manifestations of interest in her welfare, that he is her lover. Indeed, ho 
proceeds to declare his affection, and to ask her hand. Margaret refuses ; but be- 
ing hard pressed for her reasons, acknowledges that she loves Clement, but an in- 
superable bar prevents their union— her father is a dishonored man— an outcast— a 
criminal. Clement expresses his willingness to wed her, but Margaret, while 
grateful for his nobleness, will only consent to wed him after they have jointly tried 
to bring her father back to the right path. The second scene introduces us to an 
amusing vagabond, who enters the sitting room of the " George " at Winchester. 
This individual, whose habiliments are " in the sere, the yellow leaf," indulges in a 
characteristic soliloquy, from which we learn that he is a broken-down sport, and 
a criminal, indeed; that he had found that " Joe Wilmot " was putting up at this 
hotel, and that he intended to await his arrival ; that he had seen Joe with a stran- 
ger enter a wood near St. Cross ; that his first move was to accost Joe, and try to 
borrow some " brads " from him ; but finally thought it better to come to his hotel 
and await his arrival. A waiter enters, and not liking the cut of the Major's coat 
(for a major he announces himself to be), tries to bow him out of tlie apartment, 
telling him the room is engaged for the great banker, Mr. Henry Du-sbar, who has 
just come back from India, and " who's worth a million if he's worth a penny." 
The servant leaves the room, and in his absence the Major proceeds to examine the 
trunks of the banker, which have arrived. His inspection is cut short by the ser- 
vant's return to tell him that a gent named Harry Carter wants him. The Ma- 
JOB starts to leave by aback door, but is headed off, caught, and handcuffed by an as- 
sistant of Carter's. He is taken off in custody, having, however, previously re- 
fused to reveal Wilmot alias AVentworth's whereabouts. Soon after, Went- 
worth, disguised as Henry Dunbar, enters, and orders that dinner shall wait until 
the arrival of his friend Wilmot, whom he had sent across the country (he said) to 
apprise a Mr. Stratton of his arrival. While dinner is waiting,. Mr. Dunbar pro- 
ceeds to open the trunks, and reads aloud the contents of some of the i):ipers. From 
these documents be learns all the particulars about thebusinessof the firm of which 
Dunbar was leading partner, and he, also, finds a lot of letters written by Laura 
to her fiither. Dunbar declines still to set down to dinner until the arrival of Wil- 
mot, and while talking to the waiter about his unaccountable absence, a noise is 
heard outside; acrowd appears in the corridor; Henry Dunbar advances to it, 
lifts a sheet that covers a body just borne in, and exclaims, " Joseph Wilmot I 
dead I" In the second act Laura is complaining to her maid, Mary, of the little 
aflfectiou which her father manifests for her, when Arthur Lovell is announced. 
This gentleman is informed by Laura of her father's coldness. Lovell tells her he 
has a tine appointment in India, and had he but her hand in marriage he would be 
perfectly happy. Dunbar, who had entered unobserved, comes forward, and after 
asking LAUKAto retire for a few moments, surprises Lovell by briefly telling him 
that his health is broken by his long life in India, that he must seek the continent 
at once; but before he goes he desires to see Laura, his dear datighter, happily 
married ; he observes that they love each other, and wishes their union without any 
delay ; adding that instead of settlements, he will give his daughter a handsome 
sum in money and a present of magnificent diamonds. Lovell, transported with 
delight, rushes off to Laura's boudoir ; Dunbar having left the room before iiim. 



40 



HENnr DtTNBAC 



Jiist afterward Mahgaret, in deep mourning, is ushered in. Latjea enters and 
embraces her. An alfectiiig interview takes i)l.ice between them. Margaret be- 
ing determined to follow up Dunbar to the death for the supposed murder of her 
father. Dunbau sends his daughter, who liad gone in search of him, back to Mar- 
garet, to say that lie will never see her, but that he will make her a handsome 
yearly allowance, and gives his daughter fifty pounds to baud her as a first pay- 
ment. Laura returns to Margaret, and lianas her the flity pounds in an envel- 
ope. Margaret passionately throws down the money, signals Laura to leave her, 
and exclaiming, " Dut I will see him, and he shall see me, if 1 drop down dead I" is 
abotit to enter, when Clement Austin enters. The young man informs Margaret 
that he is the cashier in tlie house of which Dunbar is head, and is in attendmico 
•with important papers. The young girl reveals to Clkment part of her Rtory, and 
be determines to manage to get her an interview with DunbaR In the next scene 
the Major reappears ; lie has run against Mr. Balderby while entering the bank 
of Dunbar & Co. Here the JIajor gets into conversation with the diamond merch- 
ant, and is only prevented from tilchiny some of the gems by the entrance of Car- 
ter, who warns him. The Major liangs about to get an interview wiih Dunbau. 
Meanwhile, Dunbar has the books of the bank brought to him by Clkment Austin, 
and proposes to draw a very large amount out to buy diamonds and for olhcr pur- 
poses. Ddnbar tells Austin that ho wishes an annuity to be paid to a Miss Went- 
worth ; the young man tells Duisbar that he knows her ; indeed, is betrothed to 
lier. Dunbar advises him to marry her, and says that he will befriend them, but 
that he cannot see her. Just then Cauter enters to inform the banker that he is 
employed to investigate the murder of Wilmot, and that AVilmot's daughter, 
Margaret, even accuses him of the crime. Dunbar gives the detective a fee, and 
advises him to try and clear up the mystery. Harldly has the detective left, ere 
the Major enters. He is announced as Major V'avasour, and soon gives Dunbar 
to understand that he sees through the whole affair, and that he must be bribed to 
silence. The banker gives him two thousand pouTids, which satisfies him for the 
nonce. Clement Austin now determines to bring Mai;garet and Dunbar face to 
lace, but the banker frustrates his plan by leaving the city for his country house, 
M ludsley Abbey. To this place ho is followed by the Major, who fears that lie is 
about to leave England, and thus give him the slip, especially as Laura had jut^t 
been married to Arthur Lovell and i.s oil on their wedding trip. Tlie Major tells 
Dunbar tiiat he has taken a small p'ace close to his lodge gates, and will not stir 
from there. The banker has to again bribe the fellow to silence, and ho departs. 
Dunbar, once more alone, begins ciisting retrospective glances over the past events, 
and in the midnight .^ilence conjures up all the fearful doings of that cveutlul 
night, wlien the returned India merchant and the wretched forger stood face to face 
beneath the dark branches of the wood near St. Cross. He has determined on 
flight; has tried by copious draughts of brandy to dull his senses, and has at length 
fallen into an unquiet slumber at the table, his head resting in his hand. Then 
Margauet stealthily enters, and listens to the broken sentences that proceed from 
the wretched man's white lips. At length he utters the word " Margaret." Terri- 
bly affrighted is the girl to hear her own name, and uttered by her father !—tlio 
father 1 1 lat she supposed was now lying in his shroud- Margaret rouses her fa- 
ther. An explanation ensues, in which Dunbar convinces his daughter that the 
banker was killed by him in a struggle for life, and that he then assumed the name 
and personated Dunbar in order to save himself. Margaret no sooner gets over 
lier surprise, than she urges her father to fly at once, and evade the death penalty 
that surely would befall him, as no one but a daughter would believe his statement. 
n)UNBAK obeys her and escapes. In Act the Fourth Laura has been recalled to the 
Abbey, her lather having been terribly injured by a railroad accident. The doctor 
has forbidden any one seeing Dunbar. The wretched man, terribly shaken and 
bruised, is barely able to sit up, when Margaret raps at his window, and begs to be 
let in. Dunbar with great difficulty opens the window, when his daughter almost 
falls in, her hair dishevelled, and her whole aspect most pitiful and wo< -b. gone. 
Ill a few hurried sentences she tells her father that Carter and Austin, impelled by 
her, had investigated the murder affair; had become convinced that Dunbau had 
killed Wilmot, and that they were even now on their way to arrest him ; she had 
managed to get ahead of them ; and there was not an instant to be lost ; he must 
escape at all hazards. Yielding to his daughter's tears and prayers, the still feeble 
man mounts a horse, which Margaret procures from the stables; and partly sup- 
ported by his brave-hearted daughter, he sets out. Cautkr and Austin arrive at 
the Abbey just half an hour after Dunbu; had left. Dunbar and his daugh- 
ter contrive to get as far as the Major's house, but can proceed no farther. They 
gain admittance. The Major, after securing a belt enclosing the diamonds winch 
Dunbau had with him, consents to let DunB'R remain in his disguise, while lie 
takes the horse and starts off, having no wish to meet Carter. The detective soon 
.after arrives, but is bafHed by the ingenir>v of Margaret, who has assumed the 
disguise of a servant But all in vain are the noble girl's efforts ; her father is 
deatb-stricken, and falls dead in his daughter's arms ; but not before he had consoled 
her with the assurance of his sincere penitence. Carter (with the belt) and ( le- 
MENT enter reverently The latter exclaims: " Too late." " Not so," replies Mab- 
GABET ; " hia Judge knows— his Judge is merciful 1" 



De Witt's Acting Plays — Continued. 



Ho. 

4«. Xk« MIdatgKt 'Watcb. Drstna. 1 Aet. 

By Johu M. Morton, s Male, 2 Female Chai-- 

acteiij. 
M. Xlic Port«r*a Kaot* Serlo-Comlc Dva-ma. 

3 Aet8. By Johu Oxeuf«rd. 8 Male, i Female 

<9haraot«l'S. 
SI. A Model for a ■^Vlfe. Faree. 1 AM. Dy 

Alfred WiSAQ. 3 Male, 2 Female Oharaeterfl. 
B2. A. Cup of Tea. Gomedjetta. 1 Act. By 

Charles NiUMer and J. Derley. 3 Male, 1 Fe- 
male Characters. 
S3. Gertrude's IIIf>ne7-nox. Farce. I Act. 

B," Harry Lemou. -i Male, 2 Female Characters. 

64. Xhe Youngr CoMe^lan. Parre. 1 Act. 

By T. W. Uobertsoii. i Male, i Female Char- 
acters. 

tS. Calbertrine H<»vard; er, The Throne, the 
Tomh afltl tlie i«*>4<l. Historic Flay. 3 Acts. 
By W. D. Suter. 13 Male, 6 Female Characters. 

S6. X»vo e«y Deoe^Ters; or, Blaek, White 
an d (Jray. PHrce. 1 Act. By T. W. Robert- 
son. 3 Male Characters. 

ST. RToemie. Drama. 2 Acts. By T. W. Robert- 
son. 4 Blale, 4 Female Characters. 

St. Deborah (Leah); or, The Jewi*h Maiden's 
Wrons. Drama. 3 Acts. JJy Ohwi. Smith 
Cheltnam. 7 Male, 6 Female OUaraoters. 

59. Xhe Post-Kay. Dnwna. 2 Acts. By H. T. 

Craven. G Male, 3 Ftnnale CharaoWw. 

60. Xhe MkMea Hand: or, The Gray Lady of 

Forth Venn..n. Drama. 4 Acts. By Tom 
Taylor. 5 Male, 5 Female Characters. 

61. Plot and PaHsion. Drama. 3 Acts. By 

Tom Taylor. 1 Male, 2 Fotale Characters. 

«2. A Photographic Fix. Farce. 1 Act. By 
Frederick Hay. 3 Male, 2 Female Charac- 
ters. 

•5. Marriage at any Price. Farce. 1 Act. 
By J. P. Wooler. 5 Male, 3 Female Charac- 
ters. 

M. A nonsehold Fairy. A Domestic Sketch, 
1 Act. By Francis Talfourd. 1 Male, 1 Fe- 
male Characters. 

65. Checlcmate. Comedy Farce. 2 Acts. By 

Andrew Halllday. 6 Male, 6 Female Charac- 
ters. 

6S. Xffce Ovaa^e €Hrt- Drama, In a Prologue 
and 3 Ar»«. By Henry Leslie. 18 Male, 4 Fe- 
male O fc *wi»ct«n. 

67. Xhe KArtlt«place ot Podgers. Farce. 
1 Act. By JokuHoUinitshead. 7 Male, 3 Fe- 
male Charfvet«rs. 

•8. Xhe ChevaMer de St. George. Drama. 
3 Acts. ByT. W. BobertHon. 9 Male, 3 Fe- 
male Oharact(y". 

«9. Caught by Cue CuOr. Farce. I Act. By 
Fre«icriek Hiy. 4 Male, 1 Female Characters. 

70. Xhe nonnin Fish -Wife. Farce. 1 Act. 

By Ciiartea Selby. 3 Male, 1 Female Characters. 

71. Doing for the Rest. Domestic Drama. 2 

Acts. ByM. KaphlnoLacy. Male, 3 Female 
0h«r«otei-8. 

72. A Lianie Excuse. Farce. 1 Act. By Fl-od- 

erick Hay. 4 Male, 2 Female Characters. 
IS. FeMered. l»mma. 3 Acts. By Watts Phil- 
lip*. 11 Male, 4 Female Characters. 

74. Xhe Sorrick Fover. Farce. 1 Act. By 

J. R. Planche. 1 Male, 4 Female Characters. 

75. MA ri tm m u. Drama. 3 Acts. By Henry Leslie. 

7 Male. 3 Female Characters. 
7«. Chops oT the Channel. Nautical Farce. 

1 Act. By FraAdick Hay. 3 Hale, 3 FemAla 

Oharacterrt. 
77. Xho Roll of the Drum. Dnma. S Acts. 

By Tkomas B««rtoii Wllks. S Male, 4 Female 

Charact«rH. 
T8. th is ilal PnrComaauees. F«rc«. 1 Act. 

■y WIlBMt Barrlioo. 7 Male, 3 Femals Ckw> 

acters. 
Tt. A Sboofi ha "VffolPa Clothing. Domeadc 

Drama. 1 Act. By Tom T&Ttor. 1 Male, 3 

Female •hu-aa(*r«. 



Tliomas J. Wl 
acter 



[lup V 
VVlTlia 



4 Male, 3 FamaU Oh*r- 



81. 'Vandylio Brown. Paran. 1 Ae*. By X. 

C. Troughton. 3 Male, 3 Famale Cha ra «t»»B. 

82. Peep o* Day ; or, gavoumeea DlM«Mflli. 

(New Di-ury Lane Verslen.) 
Acte. By Kdmnnd Falcone 
mAle Chara*^er8. 

83. Xhriee Married. Personation Piece. 1 

Act. By Howard Paul. 6 Male, 1 Faaale 
Characti-is. 

84. IVot Guilty. Drama. 4 Acts. By Watts 

PhilHpe. 10 Male, 6 Female Cliar»c«eM. 
83. Xvoelted in with a Lady. Sketoh Sron 
Life. By U. K. Adillson. 1 Male, 1 PsbmI* 
Oharacter*. 

86. Xhe Lady of Lyons ( or, Love and PrUe. 

(The Fachter Versiwu) Play. 5 AeU. By 
Lord Lytton. 19 Male, 3 Felaal* Charactere. 

87. Locked Out. 0»ia)« Sceaa. 1 Act. By 

Howard Pa'il. 1 Male, 1 Female Ctiftraeters. 

85. Founded on Facts. Farce. 1 Act. By 

.I.P. Wooler. 4 Male, 2 Female Ohafactwa- 
89. Aunt CharloMo'a !W»W. Far^. I Act. 
By J. M. Morton. 3 Male, 3 Female Charac- 



91. IValpole; or. Every Man has hl« Piiae. 

Comedy in Rhyme. 3 Act*. By Lord Ly*toti. 
7 Male. 2 Female Char»ctois. 

92. My IV'fe's Out. Farce. 1 Jut. By O. 

Herbert Uodwrll. 2 Mule, 3 Pmute « i.iia s*« w . 

93. Xhe Area Delle. Farce. 1 Act. By WHUara 

Brough and Andrew Halliday. 3 Male, 2 Fe- 
male Characters. 

94. Our Clerks s or. No. 3 Fig Tree Court Tem- 

ple. Farce. 1 Act. 7 Male, 5 Female Char- 
acters. 
9.^. Xhe Pretty Horse Breaker. Faroe. 
1 Act. By William Brough and Andrew HaHi- 
day. 3 Male, 10 Female CharaeterB. 

96. Dearest Mamma. Comedietta. 1 Act, 

By Walter Gordon. 4 Male, 3 Female ChwM- 
ters. 

97. Orange Blossoms. Comedietta. 1 Act. 

By J. P. Wooler. 3 Male, 3 Female Character. 

98. IVho is ■Who? or. All in a For. Parca. 

1 Act. By Thomas J. Williams. 3 Male, 2 F'- 
male Charactei-s. 

99. Xhe Fifth '«VheeI. ComedJ^ 3 AcU. ID 

Male, 2 Female Characters. 
100. Jack Long : or. The Shot In tha 1^ Dramv 

2 Acts. By J. B. Jolmatona. i Mate, I Famal* 
Characters. 

101. Fernande. Drama. 3 Acts. By VIet«ri«B 

Sardou. 11 Male, lU Female Charactcw. 
102 Foiled. Drama. 4 Acta. By 0. W. Cojnisfc.. . 

8 Male, 3 Female Characters 

103. Faust ond Margruerltte. Dnuma. s 

Acts. Dy T. W. Robertson. 9 Male, 7 I>«mai« 
Characters. 

104. No Name. 

lins. 7 Male, 

105. Which of the Two. Comedietta. 1 Aet 

By Joba M Mortoa. *J Male. 10 Femalo etiara«tecs 

106. Up for the Cattle Show. Faroe. 1 Ao« 

By Harry Lemon. Male, 2 Female Okaiaetors 

107. Cupboard Love. Farce, l Act. By Pied- 

erickfla; 2 Male. I Female CharaMers 

108. Mr. fr:croarx Intl. Farce. 1 Act. By William 

Hancock. 3 Male, 3 re.naleCbaffaot«fS 

108. liOeic.d In. Comedietta. lAot. By J. F. 

WooUr. '.cMuJe. 3 Female OlMDaMau 

110. PoppIeton'M Predlcaineiits. FaMa. 1 
Act.- By CbailMM.Kaa. > Mate, Penaia Cftaf 

aetee« 



111. 



By Baai 

Altered and adap«4 by Ofaartu MaMbevs. 
and fi Female Charaoteca. 



T MaU 



De Witt's Acting PI; 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



014 549 150 2 



No 

112. Not oBIt Jcaloiw. A Farcc.in 1 Act, By 
T. \V. KobcrTson. 3 Male^ 3 Female cbaracters 

U3. CjrH'g 8u('ce8ft. Comedy, in 5 Acts. By H. 
J, Byron. 9 Mule, 5 Female characters. 

114. Anytbine ior n Change. Petite ComcHy, 
iu 1 Act. By Shirley Brouks. 3 Male, 3 Fe- 
male characters. 

. Mc\T Men and Old Acres. Comedy, in :i 
Aote. By Tom Taylor. 8 Male, 5 Female char- 
acters. 

. I'm not McslU at all. An Original Irish 
Stew. By C. A. Maltby. 3 Male, 2 Female 
characters 

. fiot Such a Fool e.a he Looks. Farcical 
Drama.in 3 Aois. By H.j. Byron. 5 Male, 4 
Female cliaracters. 

118. Wanted, a Young Lady. Farce, in 1 Act. 
By W . E. Sutcr. 3 .\I nio characters, 

119. A Life Chase. Drama, in 5 Acts. By John 
Oienford. 14 Mule, 5 Female characters 

120. A TcmpcBt In a 1 ea Pot. Petite Comedy, 
in 1 Act. By Thomas Picton. 2 Male, I Fe- 
male characters 

, A Comical Counteas. Farce,<n I Act. By 
William Brough. 3 Male, ' Female characters 

. Isabella Orslnl. Romantic Drama, in 4 Act;;- 
By S. 1 1, Mosenthal. 1 1 Male, 4*Female charac- 
ters 

. The Two Poets. Farce. By John Court- 
nay. <i Male, 4 Female characters 

. The Volunteer Revlow. A Farce. By 
Thomas J. Williams, Esq. 6 Male, *i Female 
character! 

. J>cerfoot, Farce, in 1 Act. By F. C. Bur- 
naud, Esq. f> Male, 1 Female characters 

. Twice Killed. Farce. By John Oienford.— 
6 Male, 3 Female characters 

• Pegrity Green, Farce. By Charles Selby. — 
3 Male, 10 Female characters 

. The Female Detective. Original Drama> 
in 3 Acts. By C. H. Hsileweod, lIMa1e,4 
Female cbaratera 

. In lor o Holiday. Farce, In 1 Act. By F. C. 
Burnnnd, Esq. 2 Male, 3 Female characters 

130. My Wife's Diary, Farce, i u 1 Act. By T. 
AV. Robertson, 3 Male, 1 Female characters 

121. Go to Putney. Original Farce, in 1 Act. By 
Harry Lemon. 3 Male, 4 Female characters 

13S. A Knee for n Dinner, Farce. By J, T. 
G. Rodwell. 10 Male characters 

133. Timothy to the Kcscuc. Original Farce, 
in 1 Act. liy Henry J, Byron, Esq, 4 Male, 

2 Female characters 

i. Tompkins the Troubodour. Farce, in 1 
Act. By .Messrs. Loclxroy and Marc Michel. 

3 Male, 2 Female characters 

L Everybody's Friend, Original Comedy.in 
3 Acts, By J. Stirling Coyn^Esq. $ Male, i 
Female characters 
The Woman In Red, Drama,ln 3 Actsand 
aPrologue. By J.Stirling Coyne, Esq. 6 Male 
3 Female characters ' 



137. L'Artlcle 4? ; or. Breaking the Ban. Drama, 

in S Acts. By AdolpheDelot. 11 Male, 6 Fe- 
male characters 

138. Poll and Portncr Joe ; or the Pride of Put- 

ney.and the Crossing Pirate. New and Origi- 
nal Nautical Burlesque. By F C. Eumand — 
7 Male, 6 Female characters 

139. J-j Is Daneerons. Comedy, in 2 Acts. By 

James Mortimer. 3 Male, 3 Female characters 

140. >ever Reckon your Chickens. Farce, li> 

1 At. By Wybert Iteeve. 3 Male, 4 Female 
characters 

141. The Bells ; or. The Polish Jew. Ro- 

mantic Moral Uramii, la 3 Actri. By Henry L. 
Williams, Jr. 9 Male, 3 Female cliaracters. 
1J2. Dollars and Cents. Orl^-inal American 
Comeiir.iii 3 Acts. Ky I,. J. Hollenlus, Ksq. 
10 Mule, 4 Female Chaiaiieia. 

143. Lodg^ers and Dodgers. Farce. In 1 Act. 

By Frederick Hay. 4 Male, 3 Female char. 
at-teia. 

144. The Lancashire l..ass | or* Tempt- 

ed. Tried and True. Domestic Melo- 
drama, m 4 Acts and a Prologue. By Heury 
J. Byion. 12 Male, 3 Female cliaracters. 

145. First Love, Cemedy, In 1 Act. By L. J. 

Uollenius, Esq. 4 Male, 1 Female clmraclers. 

146. There's no Smoke '\%^ithout I'*ire. 

Coniedietia, in I Act. By Tliomas PIctou. 

1 Male, 2 Female Characters. 

147. The Overland Route. Comedy. In 3 

Acts. By Tom Taylor. 11 Male, « Feniali 
cbaiacters. 

148. Cut aCr '«VIth a Shilling. Comedietta, 

In 1 Act. By 8. Theyio Binlili. 2 Male, I Fe- 
male characters. 

149. Clouds. An Original American Csniedy, In 

4 Acta. By Fred Maisdau. 8 Male, 6 Female 
characters. 

150. A Tell-Tale .Heart. Comedietta, in 1 

Act. By Thomas Picton. 1 Male, 2 Female 
characters. 
Ul. A. Hard Case. Farce, In 1 Act. By Tbos. 
Plct*u. 2 Male characttir«. 

151. Cupid's Eye.Glaas. Comedy, In 1 Act 

By Thomas PIctou. 1 Male, I Female cliar 
actera. 

153. 'Tls netter to Live Than to Die, 

Petite Comedy, iu 1 Act. By Thomas Picton, 

2 Male, 1 Female characters. 

154. Maria and IMagdalena. Play, In 4 .\cta. 

By L. J. Uollenius, Esq. 10 Male, 6 Female 
characters. 

155. Uur Heroes. Military Play, In 5 Acts. By 

John B. Beuauld. 25 Male, 5 Female cbar- 
acteia. 

156. Peace at Any Price. Farce, Is 1 Act. 

By T. W. Bobertseu. 1 Male, 1 Temals char- 
acters. 

157. 9uite at Borne. Comedietta, In 1 Act 

Dy Arthur Sketchley. 6 Male, 2 Female char- 
acters, 

158. School. Comedy, in 4 Acts. By T. W. Rob- 

ertson. 6 Male, 3 Female Characters. 

159. In the '%Vrong House | or. No. Six 

Duko Street. Farce. By Martin Becher. 
4 Male, 2 Female characters. 

160. Blow for Blo-w. Drama, In a Prolegue 

and 3 Arts. By Henry J. Byron. E Uals, 4 
Female characters. 



